oo' 







'■^ \\' 




^^ <^ 





^^/. v-^ 



j^O' 0- ^' • "/^ c 



.\^- "'f'-^ 



%^ 



G 









^-^^ 




^^• - 










"bo^ 






.^^ 






•v^- 






Vv'^' 









' -o- 









;% 



.v\^ . 



^>- >* 




-^^ 












/-' * 









^0^ 



A^ . . . ,%/^ '^^^ >\ , « . -^ ^^ ' '^ ' ^ "^ ^' o . c >^^ ^ ■"- 






St: rt -^ 









'Ll 







IC L-RICIlLNraS b.lVuM\ILMORTH. 
•:r the RHINE, irii^c 341. 






U % 



A BUCKEYE ABROAD; 



JtTnnheringH in (Bimp, imJt in \\)t a>rinit. 



SAMUEL S. cox. 



" The Utopians imagine that He, as all inventora of curious engines, has exposed to our 
view, this great machine of tlie Universe, we being the only creatures capable of cou- 
templating it"— ^tr T7wmas Moie's Utopia. 




N E W-Y R K : 
GEORGE P PUTNAM, 155 BROADWAY, 

MD.CCr.Lll. 



.1''^ 






^ 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1852, 

By GEORGE P. PUTNAM, 

In the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court for the Southern District of New-York, 



JOHN F. TROW, 

printer anlj ^Sttrfotgper, 



PREFACE. 



A Book of travels is no longer a book of marvels. There 
remains but small portions of terra incognita. Asia and the 
Americas are pouring in their tributes to the curiosity of this 
locomotive age. Africa, even, in the page of Cummings and 
others, peers from behind her veil of mystery, and the Arctics 
are melting their frigid bonds, to flow in the channels of litera- 
ture. The only merit reserved for a volume of travels is, either 
that the ground is untrodden, or that the mode of observation 
is new and peculiar. The author can lay no claim to the for- 
mer. Something may be conceded to him, from the fact im- 
ported by the title — A Buckeye Abroad. A native of the 
west, and of that part, familiarly known as the Buckeye State, 
— may be supposed to look upon the scenes and mingle with 
the throngs of the Old World with new and peculiar sensations, 
which may find sympathy, if not with the general reader, at 
least with readers in Ohio. Indeed it was such an interest at 
home that called for the revision and the publication of these 
passages of travel. They embrace a tour through Prance, Italy, 
Germany, Belgium, Scotland, England and Ireland ; delightful 
sojournings at Rome, Naples, Malta, Venice, Athens, Smyrna, 



g PREFACE. 

Constantinople, Geneva, and amid the Alps ; and observations 
along the Mediterranean, amidst the isles of Grreece. 

The pleasure of travelling was enhanced by companionship. 
We numbered four in our company, two ladies and a gentle- 
man, Mr. Philo Buckingham, and myself— just the number for 
convenience and unity of movement, as well as for pleasure. 
The time, too, was propitious. The year 1851 maybe truly 
called annus mirabiUs., at least so far as travellers were con- 
cerned. The Great Exhibition — that novel phaze of our civil- 
ization — was enough to entitle the year to the honor, as a 
special wonder. 

Each observer is a type of a large class of observers, 
mankind generally ; and it is not to be accounted egotistical 
that the writer perpetually speaks of himself Of neces- 
sity he must use his own senses and reason ; but through 
these, others, especially if educated and governed by similar 
influences, may perceive and reflect, by virtue of the common 
vinculum, which binds mankind together. The impressions 
herein recorded were mostly taken upon the spot, and the allu- 
sions, historical, classical, or otherwise, were not sought for, but 
sprung out of the time and locality. Each lineament of each 
form in Nature or Art, each custom and characteristic were 
daguerreotyped, though somewhat rapidly, if not imperfectly, 
from the original, as it appeared in itself and in its environ- 
ment. Well knowing the inferior rank in literature to which a 
work of this kind is entitled, I reluctantly commit it to the 
public, trusting that it may be read as it was written, more for 

enjoyment ihtm. profit. 

S. S. C. 
Z.^NESviLLE, Ohio, Jav. ], 1852. 



CONTENTS, 



CHAP. . PAGE 

I. — Over the Sea, and Hail to England, .... 9 

n. — ^The Commercial Metropolis and Rural Scenery, . . .22 
in. — The Brittle Wonder and a Royal Chase, . ... 28 

IV. — ^An English Saturnalia, 42 

, V. — ^The Commons, . 51 

vi. — Under the Crystal and in the Park, 59 

viL — Westminster and Dover, . . , , . . . 71 

VHL — France, — An Entry and an Exit, 76 

IX. — The Home of Columbus, ....... 95 

X — Rome, — Living and Dead, 104 

XL — Naples, — Its Loveliness and Horror, . . . . .159 
xiL — Naples, — Its Gayety and Desolation, ..... lYO 

xm. — Sicily and Malta, 185 

xrv. — Athens, — ^The Eye of Greece, 19.3 

XV. — Home of Homer, . . . ... . , . 209 

XVI. — ^The Heart of Mahometanism, 214 

xvn. — A Lady's Verdict upon the Orient, ..... 224 
xvm. — The Turkish Body Politic in its Picturesque Dress, . . 241 

XIX. — Oriental Luxury, and Classic Isles, 254 

XX.— The City of the Sea, 265 

XXI.— Lombardy,— The Garden of the World, .... 275 

xxu. — Crossing the Alps, 287 

xxin.— Through the Tdte Noir to Mont Blanc, . . . .299 



8 CONTENTS. 

CHAP. PAOB 

XXIV.— The Ice-Sea, 305 

XXV. — In and around Geneva, 315 

XXVI. — Upon the Confines of Switzerland, 324 

XXVII.— Fatherland, 329 

XXVIII. — Down the Rhine and over to "Waterloo, .... 339 

XXIX. — ^The French Capital, 34*7 

XXX. — London, — in other phases, ....... 361 

XXXI. — ^The Great Exhibition Reyisited, 371 

xxxn. — Windsor Scenes and Sports, ....... 3*78 

xxxiu. — Avon, — Shakspeare's Home, 386 

XXXIV. — A glance at Ireland, ........ 391 

XXXV. — Scotch Scenery and Genius, 398 

XXXVI. — Crossing the Border, and the Old Abbeys, .... 407 
XXXVII. — English Husbandry, and the Beauty of Chatsworth, . . 423 
xxxvin. — The Buckeye for Home, 434 



A BUCKEYE ABROAD. 



i^O 



I. 

<^mi tjiB Ira ml lail to £ngloiik 

** Hey boys I she scuds away, and by my head I know. 
We round the world are sailing now, 
What dull men are those who tarry at home. 
When abroad they might wantonly roam, 
And gain such experience and spy too 
Such countries and wonders as I do." 

Oowlei/. 

NO one can contemplate a long sea voyage to distant lands 
without foreboding. To a native of the west, unaccustomed 
to the ocean, and only glancing at its terrors, through a dim and 
often distorted medium, a journey over its troublous bosom 
is trebly fearful. Pluck up what courage he may, yet the heart 
will quail when the hour approaches, in which to sever connec- 
tion with the stable earth. Upon this merry May morning, as 
we are preparing to board our steamer, there is a sort of '• fear- 
ful looking for" the terrors of the deep. This is entirely unne- 
cessary, at least for the first three hours. Yet I would not be 
deprived of this semi-melancholy and this semi-terror which 
enshroud the mind before a long sea voyage. Madame de Stael 
has remarked, very truthfully, that it is a great trial to leave 
1* 



10 OVEB THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 

one's country, when one must cross the sea. There is such so- 
lemnity in a pilgrimage, the first steps of which are on the 
ocean. It seems as if a gulf were opening behind you, and your 
return becoming impossible. How can it be otherwise to us 
western folk, whose visions have been circumscribed by hills and 
forests, rivers and plains 1 The round " dim inane" of the ocean 
horizon already, to tip mind's eye, fills the imagination with 
the terror which springs from vagueness. In such a stretch of 
the sight, not only the eye, but thought, even is lost. Sugges- 
tions, connate with those which the idea of death prompts, arise 
in the soul. 

And yet, for all these imaginary as well as real experiences 
of ill, what a compensation has the traveller, in the anticipation 
of standing upon the shores of the old world, with its scenes of 
renowned enchantment and heroic deeds, with its very dust 
golden with historic memory ! It is well to be shut out, as if by 
a wall of brass, from old and familiar things, to enjoy such hal- 
lowed and hallowing scenes. 

Severed from familiar objects by an abyss of water, more 
formidable than brass, it will be mine to transcribe the observa- 
tions and thoughts which these scenes inspire. 

The contrasts which a sea voyage present are not unworthj"- 
of some note, especially as we have not the opportunity, as yet, 
to tread in the path of antiquity — to gather moss from its ru- 
ined monuments and crumbling towers — to forget the ordinary 
experiences of every-day life, and to wrap ourselves in the sha- 
dowy mantle of the past. 

We left the dock at Jersey Ci#y upon a fine day. The sun 
shone mildly. A light breeze, which had not power to curl a 
single snow-wreath, played in the harbor. All aboard. The 
deck was thronged with passengers and their friends to bid 
them " good bye." The boat is cleared of all save the passen- 
gers, and we move out, how proudly, from our mooring. The 
crowd on the dock cheer us ; our guns answer with a quiver and 
a report. Away we dash — past the Battery and down the bay ! 



O VER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. \ \ 

A few tears from the ladies ; a few farewell wavings of handker- 
chiefs, and New- York begins to die away in the distance. The 
Battery becomes an indistinct clump of foliage. The forest of 
masts becomes pencilled so fine as to seem but one mark ; the 
land soon fades into a blue sky, aiid we are afloat ! 

For the first few hours the fresh air of the salt sea and the 
novel situation, aiford agreeable excit^ent. The frame qui- 
vers with a new-born delight. The sMl sweeps the horizon 
with a larger circuit and a bolder wing. The Old World al- 
ready looms up in the East, a glorious promise to the Eye of 
Hope ! 

Soon we hail a vessel, and let ofi" the pilot. The little boat 
drops astern, amid the foam of our wake, and the steamer again 
throbs on its way. We had not gone far before a singular 
phenomena — singular at least to our Buckeye eye — appeared. 
There was a something spouting salt water against the sky ! It 
proved to be a iclialc — a live Jonah-swallowing king of the 
deep ! We lingered upon deck to watch the sun sink in splen- 
dor. The process of setting sail began, with the cheery songs 
and cries of the sailors. A west wind is coming along to add 
to our velocity and give exhilaration to our spirits. 

Exhilaration? If you could only have seen your new- 
fledged traveller, from that time forward up to the time when 
he first seized this pen, you would have found him a perfect em- 
bodiment of inverted exhilaration. He began to experience all 
the seven-fold horror of the sea. Oh ! this rolling, rolling, 
straining, creaking, pitching, and tossing ! all day — all night. 
When will this voyage end ? He begins to count the hours, 
and measures them by groans. Eating 1 Horrible ! All that 
he can do is to take down beef-tea, porridges and soups, and 
such other watery aliment, only fit for the spectre of Melancholy. 
Old Burton must have been upon the sea, when he wrote the 
couplet : 

"AH other griefs to this are jolly, 
Naught 90 damned as Melancholy." 



12 OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 

" Have any thing to-day, Sir," says our excellent servant 
John : — " No !" is the unmannerly retort. Imprisonment in the 
meanest county jail, on bread and water, with whippings hourly, 
would be heaven to this. And then the idea of coming back. I 
lay whole days thinking of it — wondering if there could not be 
found some short-cut over Bering's straits. No matter for bad 
roads and cold weather^o it is mother earth — give us Earth, 
Zealand or Greenland. Only let this heaving instability cease. 
Washington Irving never said a truer, yet in some respects a 
less true thing, than when he called the Ocean a blank page, 
separating two worlds. It may be blank ; but like the pages 
between the Old and New Testaments, it affords a resting-place 
for the mind, wherein to contemplate the wonders and majesty 
of the Creator. It affords, too, a space for the solemn records 
of " Deaths," and sometimes of " Births," of which latter, our 
good ship received an addition when three days out. But to 
my thinking, this page is written all along significantly. I do 
not mean to say that I have been gazing out into the ocean, 
drinking in its roar and its sublimity ; though I confess to 
drinking, in certain peculiar moments, divers quantities of the 
beverage it affords — slightly warmed. To come home to our 
subject, I have been a victim., by no means a solitary one, to 
the god of the Trident. I will not say, that he has used me 
peculiarly unkind ; for daily, since my body assumed its per- 
pendicularity, have I seen others coming from their berths, — 
pictures of Spencer's Image of Despair, or rather, resembling 
rats emergent from holes into which young Nimrods had been 
pouring warm water. For over a week has my poor system ex- 
perienced what never before it experienced, and (how I fear !) 
may again experience. But this is a part of the royal game of 
travel. It is this experience which is written in illuminated 
characters all over Irving's blank page. 

I would advise every one who thinks of crossing the sea, to 
provide a cast-iron stomach ; or else procure some preparation, 
by which that sensitive part of our organism may be rendered 



OVEH THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 13 

ex tempore insensible. I am aware that there is, on land, some 
strong prejudices against sea-travelling, on account of sea-sick- 
ness. I had some misgivings myself. They fell so far short, 
however, of the reality, as to work great injustice to the power 
of Old Neptune. 

I would not undertake to tell precisely the treatment which 
Dr. Atlantic prescribed. The day after I came aboard, I inad- 
vertently caught him assuming the ofl&ce of ^sculapius, taking 
a diagnosis of my case, and pressing home the remedy with a 
summariness not exceeded by the sharpest practice of another 
learned profession. The unremitting vigilance and care of my 
" big medicine-man" cannot, in my present state, be too highly 
lauded. That he has suifered me to sleep — a little, almost suf- 
fuses my eyes with gratitude. Dr. Sangrado prescribed a rem- 
edy for all diseases, so simple as to have become classical — 
blood-letting and warm water. Our Doctor disdains the for- 
mer. The latter, I am pleased to say, has been adopted in 
these latitudes (with an addition of the salinp)^ with good effect. 
The fact that I am able to write on this eighth day out, is 
evidence, 

Clear as a fountain in July, 

that a searching potency <has been exercised, which places Medi- 
cine upon the topmost sparkle of the wave of science. 

A person after emerging from the Hades of sea-sickness, is 
for ever after a privileged community in himself He has cer- 
tain irrepealable franchises, among which are freedom of speech, 
I wish I could say " free soil." Free Soil ! I am a great free- 
soiler, just now. Grive me soil, that is all I ask, whether it be 
the veriest rock upon which a lichen would starve, let it be sta- 
ble — only still — rocky, but not rocking. No one can appreciate 
the merits of that much-abused party who has not been sea-sick. 
You might as well attempt to master the Integral Calculus, 
without a knowledge of algebra, or to read Shakspeare without 
a knowledge of the alphabet. It is a sine qttd non. Each par- 



1 4 VER THE SEA AyD RAIL TO ENGLAND. 

ticular fibre in my body would quiver, if it were only placed 
upon an immobile element — upon free soil. 

One thing I have learned within a week, and that is, fully 
to understand the merits of Christopher Columbus and Captain 
Cook. Even in my most pluckless condition, pale, haggard and 
hirsute, I could have performed a genuflexion, with the ardor of 
Carlyle himself, to these heroes of the sea. 

I have wondered how any soul could feel grand or sublime 
upon the ocean. Lord Jeffrey has demonstrated that beauty 
and sublimity are subjective, not inherent to the objects seen, 
but depending upon the mind of the person seeing. The laby- 
rinth of forms which emanate from the painter's pencil and distil 
upon the canvass the freshness of Nature's Beauty, are first 
pictured in his soul. The warm breath of enthusiasm passes 
over the gross materials of earth, solves them into the refinement 
of thought, and then the " imprisoned splendor of the soul" 
bursts forth to beautify and bless. If, therefore, there is to be 
found beauty or sublimity upon the ocean, the mental tentacula 
must reach out and find it. But when they are paralyzed and 

shrunken by this everlasting sea-sickness — where is the sub , 

I beg pardon. Eureka ! It is the sublimity Burke discovered 
in Spencer's Cave of Error, — the nauseate sublime ! Its mono- 
syllabic expression, is simply — Ugk ! 

On Sunday we passed amidst six icebergs. They were said 
to be beautiful. No doubt. But if each iceberg had been as 
radiant with gold and orange, green and violet, and prismatic 
generally as Trinity church windows, with a Polar bear sur- 
mounting each glittering pinnacle, the scene could not have 
aroused my sense of the beautiful. I did not even go on deck 
to see them. The beautiful was drowned fathomlessly in the 
ocean of sea-sickness. 

These British vessels run up north and over the Newfound- 
land banks. They thus save upwards of 300 miles. We have 
passed vei-y few vessels. It is not the route for sailing vessels. 
During the rough time upon the banks, we ran by a little 



OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 15 

schooner, with no sails set, dancing away 1500 miles from either 
hemisphere — playing " hide and go seek" with the billows, as if 
it were in very deed, the fairy gondola of Phedra which passed 
on its way, unharmed, without oar, sail, or rudder. 

We also passed the U. S. steamship Humboldt, upon our 
fifth day out. It is her first trip. She had, however, only seven 
pieces of canvas spread, while we had ten. Our American 
ladies did not like the idea of having Uncle Sam thrown behind 
in that way. I am free to confess that not a sentiment of 
patriotism disturbed my sea-sick heart. I was helped on deck 
for a view of this strange meeting of the steamers in mid-ocean. 
We ran along side of her, only distant one half mile. We salut- 
ed with cannon, and she returned it gallantly. How finely she 
dashed the waves from her black prow ! What a thing of life 
is the proud, throbbing steamer, conscious of dignity, sinewed 
with brass and iron, with a viewless power mocking human 
might, beating in its iron heart ! This gigantic power has been 
evoked into being, by the genius of this latter time, the distin- 
guishing feature of which, above all others, is expressed in 
Wordsworth's lines : 

An iutellectual mastery exercised 



O'er the blind elements ; a purpose given, 
A perseverance fed ; almost a Soul 
Imparted to brute matter. 

I would not decry the British because we are her rivals in 
this race of material progress. Let honor crown the Anglo- 
Saxon of both continents. These petty irritabilities which have 
sprung out of this oceanic rivalry, and which have even poisoned 
the sociality of our voyage, are beneath the dignity and gener- 
osity of our countrymen. For safety and speed, for careful 
management, good servants and skilful officers, the "Asia," at» 
least, cannot be rivalled. We shall try the American line on » 
our return, and may then express our preference. Until then, 



16 OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 

God speed the noble steamers of both nations upon their mis- 
sions of interchange ! 

My first nautical observation on deck was that of a little 
bird " all alone, all alone," seemingly exhausted, yet still flying 
in its own element. What a lesson does this aerial pilgrim teach 
us. We who are continually passing the " flaming bounds" of 
worldly wisdom, and striving for the unknown and unapproach- 
able mysteries of God and of the spirit world — does it not teach 
us to be content in our own sphere of knowledge % How beau- 
tiful would be the song of that little chorister, 

" Upon a bough high swaying in the Avind," 



in some sequestered nook, surrounded by leafy prospects and 
smiling cultivation ! How like a hymn to its Creator would go 
up its carol to the All Audient One ; yet, here it is, with fagged 
wing and panting breath, contending with harsh, cold blasts, 
just able to overtop the snowy spray of the mid-ocean ; deluded 
from its greenwood home by the persuasive mysteries of the un- 
known ; a thing of song in a sea of chaos, soon to be whelmed 
for ever. Is it not an epitome of man, when he breaks the golden 
chords of that harmony which bind him to his God % 

As my strength increases, the sea grows on my esteem. The 
warmer air detains me above, where the employment of the eye 
gives relief and delight. The sailors are putting up their ropes 
into snaky coils. The sound of dish-washing unromantically 
mingles with the " profound eternal bass" of Ocean's roar. French 
fops and English cockneys (we have a motley crew) puff the light 
cigar vapor. It darts away to blend with the blue, that bends 
above us like an unbroken canopy, embroidered with a few flee- 
cy clouds. What a circle the horizon describes in the clear air ! 
I do not know whether it pleases most from its perfect geometry 
or its bewildering extent. The waverings of the water are soft- 
ened by the distance. It seems as if God, as he sits upon the 
circle of the heavens, had by his power carved out a vast liquid 
gem, variant with lights and shades. The sea, as your eye ap- 



OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 17 

proaches the edge of the horizon, — that mysterious and ever- 
changing line bounding the visible sphere and dividing it from 
the invisible, — grows darker, until upon its rim, where it clasps 
the sky, it is black ; the result of perspective, heightened by the 
contrast between the dark water and the fair sky. 

What an infinity of angles the wind makes the sea make ! 
Like the agitation of one overmastering thought upon the world 
of mind. Each medium reflects it similarly, yet with a marked 
diff"erence. One, like a Bacon or a Newton, heaves it heavenward , 
flashing it white and beautiful. Its very foam attests the 
strength of the billow. Another receives the power, and with 
docile humility, projects but a tiny drop — it may be, but a drop 
from the spray of the mightier wave. 

The officers are accustomed every log, to drop a bucket, and 
take the temperature of the water. This is reported, perhaps to 
Greenwich ; and there the immense repertory of isolated, mean- 
ingless facts is put into the crucible of generalization, and comes 
out vital principles of navigation. So much for a bucket of salt 
water, and the Baconian system of induction. 

We are almost to Cape Clear, the southern point of Ireland. 
I am a living witness that the account Tacitus gives of these 
parts is an unmitigated fabrication. Thule, Ultima Thule, is 
generally acknowledged to be Ireland, I believe. Tacitus says, 
that the seas around Thule were a mass of sluggish stagnation, 
hardly yielding to the stroke of the oar, and never agitated by 
winds and tempests. About as authentic and probable as Juve- 
nal's poetic account of the sun, which he affirms could be heard 
hissing in the waters of the Herculean Gulf 

Audit Hercules stridentem gurgite solem. 

All on the look-out for land ! Man at the mast-head and 
officers with glasses ! The hour of enfranchisement draws nigh. 
Wearied with gazing into the dim distance, I went below, to 
return on deck at dark. Clambering up the tafifrail I saw — 



18 OVEB THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 

horror of horrors ! within twenty-five yards of us, a huge black 
rock, rising up in the gloom, like the back of Leviathan ! 
I involuntarily dropped. We were in sight of land with a ven- 
geance. This rock is within a few miles of Cape Clear. The 
light-houses showed that " sweet Ireland" — (sweet indeed to the 
longing eye), was on our left. The next morning confirmed our 
locality. It found us pushing up the Channel between Wales 
and Ireland, not far from Braichen Point. We moved in a 
direct line to Holyhead. Away to the west, in dim, graceful 
limning, float, cloudlike, the cerulean mountains of Ireland. 
The low coast cannot be seen. "iJravy a port V^ growls the 
officer at the wheel-house. '•'•Heavy a port T^ echoes the mate 
at the compass. '•'■Heavy a port., Sir V^ drawls out the man 
from the tiller, and the deflection eastward continues. 

I observed an oval line of a most ethereal fineness upon the 
right. It grew, with our panting steamer's progress, into form, 
grand and palpable, until Holyhead burst upon us. With a 
glass we viewed the immense work begun by government here. 
A harbor is being built for the Cunard and mail steamers. 
Already it is connected with Liverpool by cars. As we hove 
in sight, we ran up signals, which were carried to Liverpool 
before us, — as was indicated by the line of steam which began 
to flow throughout the distant landscape. 

We took a pilot aboard and received from him one newspaper, 
which was cut into shreds and devoured by fourteen passengers 
at once. The breath of the fresh landscape is around. Now I 
can write like a native of this round earth ; for land is all about 
us. The clifi"s of Old England stand out in definite outline. 
Light-houses and mansions attest the presence of a superior 
civilization. How many thronging associations flit through the 
mind, as I recall, that here, not in fancy's eye, but in reality, 
stands the little isle of power — the home of Old Coke and 
Cromw^ell, of Spencer and Cov\^per, of Chatham and Can- 
ning, and all the host of glorious minds with whom so much of 
life has been passed. Aye ; in very truth, my eye has greeted 



OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 19 

the land of William Shakspeare and Guy Fawkes, John 
Milton and Titus Gates ; the ideal realm of John Falstaff 
and Little Nell ; the theatre of Roundheads and Cavaliers. 
Yonder, verily, just over to my right, actually grew into life 
that vigorous feudalism out of which rose the fabric of our 
own common law. These remembrances come over me wildly 
and strangely. Old England ! Yes ; God bless her ! With 
tears in my eyes, I beseech Heaven's best benison upon her. I 
forget her, as the land of ruth and wrong ; I remember her only 
as the land of noble deeds and generous hearts. Her literature, 
from Chaucer's first uncouth song to ©'Israeli's last sarcasm, 
floats through the memory like a vivid power, transforming 
every prejudice into praise, and even wrong into glory. 

But I am ahead of my reckoning. I am not yet done with 
the Ocean. Such an event as crossing the Atlantic by a back- 
woods Buckeye, deserves a fuller treatment. Of course, in this 
gossiping of mine, you will not expect me to confine myself to 
any system. I reproduce only hasty impressions hastily ; pre- 
tending to no insight, simply to sight ; to no profundity in 
reading character and discussing vital v principles, simply to 
superficial glances and occasional hearings. 

Now that the horrors of sickness are over, the ocean presents 
itself under another sky. I have spoken of our " volant home," 
the noble steamship. Ours was not tested very strongly by 
Neptune ; yet not a fear as to the result intruded itself into our 
minds. It requires a good share of confidence in a vessel, to 
step from the firm set earth upon its fragile planks, which are to 
be upborne by so unstable an element. It instils a thrilling 
awe, to feel yourself moving away to some mysterious realm, the 
existence of which seems to hang only upon the prompture of 
Faith. The divorce from the old and familiar has begun. Day 
after day, you are 

" Borne darkly, fearfully afar," 

reaching no shore, and night after night, you hear, by your very 
pillow, the 



20 OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. \ 

"Ever drifting, drifting, drifting, 
Currents of the restless main." 

Yet to know that the potent water-breath, we call steam, can 
mate the Ocean in his wildest Saturnalia, gives all the joy of 
security, while it does not rob us of the vague mystery. Let 
the Sea King try his strongest, to crack our vessel's joints and 
sinews — cheerily sing the sailors, and merrily laugh and skip 
about the boat the frolicksome children. No drifting at the 
pleasure of the elements, with our vessel ; but a straight path 
and a steady one. Vulcan, amid his coal smoke below, is the 
controlling spirit ; and reeling Neptune drops his trident in the 
fire. 

Can it be that here indeed is the rock-ribbed coast of Eng- 
land 1 Yes ; for the tokens are evident. The rocks are all fis- 
sured, and gray as the hoar-frost with salt. Irregular masses 
seem to have been heaped ashore. No footing is found upon 
which to stand. The rocks impress one strangely, not alone be- 
cause they form an outline of the isle of our ancestors, but (we 
must own it) because that isle affords our poor physical frames 
a steady foothold, and an uninterrupted appetite. How much 
of the crockery ware is burned into this human " wessel of 
wrath," along with the exquisite porcelain? 

We are about to turn up the Mersey, and to leave our open 
seaward for a narrower path. Perhaps from this point one may 
fully appreciate the glories of the ocean ; for its roll no longer 
disturbs the mind. Campbell has embalmed in the splendor 
of his verse, more of the beauty and sublimity of the sea, than 
any other poet, Byron not excepted. He loved to retire from 
the bustle of London, Edinburgh, or Glasgow, and from the 
height of St. Leonard's (on solid ground — mind you !) listen to 
its murmurs, which to him were dearer than all the applause of 
the world. He found peacefulness in its din, and repose in its 
restlessness. He looked out upon the depths, amid the storms, 
and saw the lightning sink half way over the main, like a wea- 
ried bird too weak to sweep its space. He saw it in the calm, 



OVER THE SEA AND HAIL TO ENGLAND. 21 

when the firmament of stars found in it a gorgeous mirror for 
their Infinitude ! What a fine thought is that of his, which 
I calls the sky the mistress of the sea, giving from her brow his 
iitnoods, morning's milky white, noon's sapphire, and the safi"ron 
:glow of evening. So beautiful did it seem to his poetic eye, 
;that he wondered not that Love's own Queen was fabled to have 
I come from the bosom of the sea ! He likens it to creation's 
common (a purely Anglo-Saxon metaphor), which no human 
(power can parcel or inclose. This idea is akin to that of 
Madame de Stael, which Bja'on engrafted upon his immortal 
Apostrophe. " Man," she says, " may plough the earth, and cut 
his way through mountains, or construct rivers into canals to 
transport his merchandise, but if his fleets for a moment furrow 
the ocean, its waves as instantly efface this slight mark of servi- 
tude, and it again appears as it was the first day of the creation." 
Or, as Byron phrases it, 

"Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now." 

The figure, however, which pleases my taste most is that of 
the mirror. It has been used by Bailey, in his "Angel World," 
to illustrate the most stupendous truth which the human mind 
may entertain ; the mysterious combination of the Eternal 
Father with the everlasting Son, the union of Infinite Justice 
with all-gracious Love, — 

"The unseen likeness of the Ineffable One, 
Each like the other, as the sky and sea, 
Imbosoming the Infinite." 

Material though the ocean be, it has a power to penetrate into 
the mind's immaterial recesses, to inspire it with Beauty, and 
lelevate it with the emotions of Religion. 

Have I written too much upon this theme ? My Jeremiad 
on sea-sickness required an antidote to do justice to the element 
which has borne me over its bosom so safely. 



II. 

€k CniiimrrriKl ^i^rtrnpnlis nii^ Eurnl Irrnrrii. 

"All that Nature did tliy soil deny, 
The growth was of tliy fruitful Industry ; 
And all the proud and dreadful sea 
A constant tribute paid to tliee.'' 

HERE we are upon substantial soil. Liverpool ! How lan- 
guidly the word melts in the mouth ! My partiality for 
steamships and big ponds could not restrain the outbreak of 
joy with which we pressed the solid land. The effects too of 
our experience, though sad at first, have resulted in a bound of 
animal spirits almost inconsistent with sanity. 

At the mouth of the Mersey we took a pilot aboard, and 
with our "starboard, sir," "port, sir," and "steady, sir," we 
reached Liverpool at 11 o'clock, upon the night of the 17th of 
May, 1851. It was some recompense for missing the green, 
bright green banks of the Mersey, with its cottages and resi- 
dences, that we passed up amid a galaxy of many-colored lights, 
which, reflected upon the water from Birkenhead on the one side, 
and Liverpool on the other, almost transformed the scene into 
one of fairyland. Our guns boomed : mails were taken ; and 
after the custom-house proceedings, by no means vexatious, we 
were permitted to land. The first person that spoke to me was 
a little imp, modelled after the exterior of Oliver Twist. A 
police officer touched him with a baton. He was 7ion est in a jiffy. 

Our first impression of the population here was not very 
favorable. True, we saw the fag-end of humanity in the shape 



THE COMMERCIAL METROPOLIS. 23 

of beggars and loafers at the landing. We had no sooner taken 
up our march to our hotel, preferring to feel the delight of a 
walk, after so long a ride on the billows, than a fellow who said 
that he was a servant at the Waterloo, offered himself as our pilot. 
I suspected him, but thought that we would use him, as it was 
nearly two in the morning. We had not gone far before we 
were saluted with, "Which hotel, sir — which hotel?" 

" Waterloo !" 

" Sorry — very sorry — can't accommodate you, six* — I'm boots 
at the Waterloo, sir — all full, sir. Three ship-loads just arrived, 
sir — very sorry — Victoria Hotel near by — few minutes walk, sir 
— own sister of the Waterloo keeps it." 

He had said too much. We marched on, heartily laughing 
at " Boots !" Saint Somebody's church illuminated the hour of 
two, and it was nearly daylight — a phenomenon belonging to 
this northern clime which considerably bewildered our Buckeye 
experience. We found the Waterloo open, and the lady at the 
door with her servants, ready to take down our names. I intro- 
duced our pilot as their servant. They, of course, disclaimed 
his acquaintance. " You are a pretty specimen of human vera- 
city." 

" Yes, sir, I am obliged to you, sir." 

" But I suppose we ought to pay you for your guidance ?" 

" Oh yes, please you, sir, you are very kind, sir." 

I gave him a shilling, with a caution about lying, which he, 
with a rub over his red nose, and a low bow, acknowledged. 

We had scarcely appeared this morning at our window, when 
that extreme of English civilization called " starvation" was seen 
in the shape of a young urchin, whether boy or girl I could not 
! discern, for the dress consisted of only two rags. He stood bob- 
bing his head and whining, while I sketched him. His counter- 
' feit presentment followed us, as soon as we left the hotel to take 
a stroll ; and the little gipsey had the same monotone of grief. 
He was joined by another ; and thus marshalled, we had to pass 
the agony of some squares. It was not until a fretful threat to 



24 TH£ COMMERCIAL METROPOLIS 

'• cut his weazand," that he cut our company, which he did with 
the remark, " they won't pay any more." 

How comfortably every thing is conducted in these English 
hotels. We have our own parlors, and our own meals. It looks 
so cosey to see our own good company presiding at the tea-urn, 
and dispensing the Johnsonian beverage. 

Of course, the modes here strike us strangely. But as we 
started out to admire all that is admirable, we must commend 
the English mode of hotel keeping, with its private parlors and 
private meals. 

Every object, even the go-carts, strike a stranger queerly at 
first. Omnibuses, with nobody inside, and crowded a-top, dash 
past our windows. Cabs as big as our carriages, like a streak 
of lightning, dash by with one horse. Horns musically quiver 
in the fresh morning air. The tall dark houses and clean 
white paves of Liverpool surround us, while on every side green 
foliage and twittering birds betoken that love of rural life which 
the English bring even into their cities. One thing in-doors is 
noticeable. The sedulous zeal displayed in curtaining out 
heaven's sun light. It would seem that, with the prodigality of 
gloomy weather in this isle, as much of the light as possible 
would be admitted, more especially as a heavy window tax is 
assessed. But no such thing. Why? Is it a phase of that 
habitual exclusiveness and love of domestic ease which form so 
prominent a trait in the English character 1 

We have viewed the city. Its Corinthian elegance of ar- 
chitecture, illustrated especially in the Exchange ; excellent po- 
lice ; above all, its magnificent docks, by which the shipping is 
brought into the city and preserved afloat, notwithstanding the 
tides — bespeak for Liverpool the encomium of the traveller. 
There are two provisos. The first, beggars, I have named. The 
other is, the apparent sacrilegious treatment of the buried dead. 
Would you believe it 1 The pave to several of the first churches 
here is over and upon the tombstones of the buried. The in- 
scriptions are being eff'aced by the feet of the passenger. Nurses 



f 



AND RURAL SCEN£RY. 25 

with children, men, women, and boys, indiscriminately, tread 
over the ashes of the departed. 

In our walk, we noticed Roscoe street — a reminder that 
Liverpool was the home of the Historian of the Medici. It re- 
called his splendid descriptions of that age, when Scholarship 
and Art were beginning to burst the barriers of the dark ages, 
to herald the new-born civilization which is ours to-day. It also 
recalled Irviug's elegant tribute to the merchant litteratem-. 
You remember how Irving first saw him, entering the Athe- 
naeum, with his venerable air — a fine illustration of " a chance 
production" disappointing the assiduities of Art, and working 
out of the busy mart of traffic the glory and the genius of the 
great Tuscan era. You remember, too, how nobly he bore the 
loss of his books, and what a noble consolation he found in the 
closing words of his sonnet, 

" Mind shall with mind direct communion hold, 
And kindred spirits meet to part no more." 

The country lying adjacent to the great railway between 
Liverpool and London, presents a perfect succession of rural 
beauties: one sweet continuous garden, divided ofi" into elegant 
compartments, and dotted with residences of the most exquisite 
taste. After passing out of the tunnel from Liverpool, which is 
cut through the solid rock, and which we performed for a mile 
and a quarter up an inclined plane, drawn by a stationary en- 
gine ; after we struck the daylight and the country, a bright 
greenish green, so green as almost to be yellow, saluted our 
eyes, albeit unused to any other than sea-green. The meadows 
all along seemed indeed a carpet, into which were inwoven 
snow-flakes of daisies, buttercups in profusion, and pansies large 
and plentiful ! Yet the land here is naturally sterile, having a 
reddish tinge, and as we approach nearer the great metropolis, 
it displays a chalk formation. Y/e are at one moment moving 
in sight of a beautiful tower upon the hill, surrounded with 
walks and embowered in leafiness ; then past a succession of 



26 THE COMMERCIAL METROPOLIS. 

ivy-covered cottages, thatched with straw, and in themselves, 
with their streams and parterres, forming a rural landscape. 
The high gothic chimneys, and the very red of the bricks, give 
to the towns along the way a very picturesque effect. Nature 
seems like Cowper's rose, as if just washed in a shower ; and so 
hright, yellow almost, and many-shaded, is the green, that it 
pleases the eye like an autumnal forest in Ohio. The churches 
are all perfectly neat ; some, elegant gothic buildings. Now 
and then, a still, hallowing sense of antiquity hovers around 
these churches and their grave-yards, which we look for in vain 
at home. How pleasing to see, peeping from their verdurous 
coverts, these little minsters of heaven ! From these, notwith- 
standing the marriage of Church and State — which cannot be 
too much abominated — have emanated those salutary influences 
which are illustrated by the surrounding practical works. From 
these chapels, honored by a Latimer, a Jeremy Taylor, a 
Hooker and a Berkley, in the elder time, came forth the power 
which has transformed the naturally poor soil of England into a 
garden of cultivation. They have made the ever-sweet hedges, 
and have constructed these roads which seem like elegant wind- 
ing garden paths, extending as far as the eye can penetrate, like 
lines of light in a vast panorama of verdure. 

We did not observe in all this journey a single sign of 
poverty. Comfort is impressed every where. In every village 
and cottage, Plenty appeared rejoicing in her stewardship. In 
the manufacturing districts through which we passed, the same 
rural air of neat exactitude and repose was apparent. You could 
only distinguish these districts by huge piles of coal near the 
railroad, and the tall chimney stacks lifting themselves out of 
the level against the sky, and topped with wavy streamers of 
smoke, which in the distance reminded us of our Liberty poles 
and flags. Each railway station is a pretty piece of architec- 
ture, with its elegant surrounding grounds. There does not 
seem to be a thing neglected or out of place. As the car dashed 
from point to point, our surprise was increased. Never through 



AND RURAL SCENERY. 27 

our minds jilayed the like. It resembled a fairy dream, in 
which each scene seemed " picked out as an example for the 
best." 

But while lost in admiration, I have forgotten that the cars 
have been ruralizing toward the valley of the " royal toward 
Thames." Our outstretched necks have discerned its winding 
mist already. Already is the eye peopled dim, with figures of 
Westminster, the Tower, the Parliament Houses, and above all, 
the Palace of Crystal ! 

Sure enough here we are in the Depot ; an9 not yet out of 
the country ; — in London, but still it is rus in urbe. We are 
flanked by terraced gardens and foliage. Robins and thrushes 
make music, while we rumble to our stopping point. The 
charms of the day cling like good genii to the last : as if de- 
termined to impress into our deepest hearts the adoration of 
England's Bard of Olney, who attuned, years ago, our own spirit 
as he sung of him, who looked abroad upon the varied fields, 
the mountains, the valleys, and the resplendent views of Nature, 
and by virtue of his filial confidence in the Creator of this de- 
lightful scenery, could call it all his own, with a propriety which 
none could feel, but he who could 

" Lift to heaven an unpresumptuons eye, 



And smiling say, ' My Father made it all.' " 



III. 

" A wilderness of building, sinking far 
And self withdrawn, into a wondrous depth, 
Far sinking into splendor^without end." 

Wordsworth. 

THE morning of the 21st of May found vis in London, amid 
its coaches, drays, dog-carts, phaetons, choked roads, its whirl 
of wheels and its war of confused noises. Never was there such 
a horse and vehicle-loving peoiDle as the English ; judging by the 
manifold and multiform vehicles which crowd and clog the tho- 
roughfares. Not alone in Picadilly, the Fleet, Cheapside, and 
the neighborhood of St. haul's, where streets have recently been 
cut through great blocks of houses to give passage to the throngs ; 
but in the less compacted parts of the city, and just now in the 
neighborhood of Hyde Park, near the Crystal Palace^ is there to 
be found involutions of wondrous perplexity, consisting of cab 
and carriage, horse and footman, go-cart and poney ; but all 
moving and winding with the precision of machinery, under the 
unostentatious power of an efficient police. 

Without that power, what a complexity would London be to 
a stranger? With it, access is made easy to every point worth 
seeing. Our first venture abroad was toward the Crystal Palace. 
Upon our way thither, we passed the famous Apsley House of 
Wellington, and the great equestrian statue of the Iron Duke. 

But the one great ornament ; — tlie desire to view which, 
prompted our journey hitherward, was the Crystal Palace. 
Well, — our eyes have seen it. But how shall we reproduce its 



THE BRITTLE WONDER. 



29 



wonders for the eye of others ? Never since " Dardanian hands," 
at the command of King Brutus, began this town of Londiiium 
has there been such a rare and glorious spectacle as that which 
now glitters under the May sunshine in Hyde Park ! This is a 
bold saying ; but the documents, in the shape of royal catalogues 
and colored engravings, lie around my table, and they afford most 
practical proof Our verdict, by actual inspection, has also been 
rendered, but not reduced to writing. This latter is most diffi- 
cult. I have been afraid to undertake to tell how my senses 
have been raptured. After loitering amidst the manifold splen- 
dors and intricate complexities of this •' industrious" world, the 
mind has become benumbed, and refuses to officiate but tardily. 
It seemeth as if a " star had burst within the brain," and that the 
rockets and pyrotechnic beauties were still going off in the cham- 
bers of imagery. 

Nathless I essay. The reader who undertakes to form an 
idea of this crystal structure of wondei's, from these feeble lim- 
nings, might ab well judge of the palace visually by one pane of 
glass, or of its contents by the India-rubber trowsers in Uncle 
Sam's department. 

When the palace burst upon our view, which it did as we 
approached the transept on the southern side, all was intense 
eagerness ; every hand went up, but not a word was said ! 

There it stood — the cynosure of industry ! How fragile, yet 
how substantial ; so gorgeous in its colorings ; with the flags of 
all nations playing in the breeze ; its guard of majestic trees 
about it ; extending nearly nineteen hundred feet, and running 
back one-fourth of that distance ; with its six thousand iron col- 
umns, painted blue, red and white, in grateful variety ; cover- 
ing nearly thirty acres in a magnificent park, and radiant and 
glowing, yet transparent under the mellow shine of this May 
morning ! Where under heaven was ever raised such a struc- 
ture of beauty and magnificence ? We have read of glittering 
ice turrets among the Alps, with pillars pellucid, and ''glorious 
as the gates of heaven beneath the keen full moon." Imagina- 



30 THE BRITTLE WONDER, 

tion has penetrated the earth with her fires and illuminated 
grotto within grotto, embossed and fretted, and reflecting and re- 
fracting the light into manifold splendors. We remember the 
famous ice-palace of the Russian Queen — that Northern wonder 
which Cowper illumined with his fancy, — built without forest 
or quarry, whose marble was the glassy wave, whose cement was 
water, and which, when lighted within, gleamed a clear transpa- 
rency. Somewhat thus, though far otherwise, gleamed this 
structure of Joseph Paxton — this palace of Industry. 

So stood the brittle prodigy, tliough smooth, 
And slip'ry the materials: yet fast bound, 
Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within 
That regal residence might well befit 
For grandeur ov for use. 

Mirrors needed none 

Where all was vitreus. 

In the evanescent glory of the ice-palace, the poet saw an 
undesigned severity in imagining the cold, yet glittering, the 
durable, yet transient fabric of human grandeur and courtly 
pride. How is it with this Crystal Palace, wherein is really 
seen, not fantastically imaged, the fruits of human progress, re- 
sulting from the common labor of all men, springing from the 
germs implanted within our common nature by our Creator, and 
by Him, in his own good pleasure developed into forms as exquis- 
ite as they are beautiful ! Yonder, before our rapt vision, 
stands no ice-frolic of haughty power; but a glowing enshrine- 
ment for the objects of mingled beauty and utility, which Thought 
has produced in every clime. It is no pyramidal monument to 
Pride, no classic temple for Beauty to linger under ; but a form 
in which is sanctified the loveliness of that religion which would 
cultivate the amenities of good will, peace and purity J I de- 
voutly thank God, that He has permitted me to view this com- 
mon shrine among the nations — this brittle, yet firm bond of 
brotherhood, — this crystal medium through which a better day 
doth glimmer. 



AND A ROYAL CHASE. 31 

To have stood the half hour we were compelled to stand, 
before the arched centre, awaiting the hour of admission, and to 
have enjoyed the vision, were worth a pilgrimage around the 
world, including sevei*al sea-voyages. 

We pay and enter severally. Only one can enter at a time. 
Our first step is marked down by a machine, which tells the 
number who visit here daily. These numbers average from 
thirty to fifty thousand. 

It was no sinecure office to make an inventory of the immen- 
sity of the minutiae here collected. But no description, however 
minute, can give the effect of the first view from the centre down 
the four aisles. But before you reach that centre, you pass the 
equestrian statue of Victoria, flanked by two pieces of statuary, 
— groups of Amazons, — and Zephyr and Aurora. Then bursts 
upon your view the far-famed glass fountain, under the dome, 
flinging not only from its five tons of flint glass every hue of the 
pi-ism in a flood of beauty, but a graceful jet of water which 
rivals the crystal in purity, as it curls in a smooth sheet and 
branches into a myriad of lesser prisms. As you gaze on it, 
surrounded by palm trees from Madagascar, and overshadowing 
foliage with flowers, 

The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
Capricious, in which Fancy seeks in vain 
The hkeuess of some object seen before. 

Thus has British Art worked as if to mock at Nature. To 
my eye, each radiant point of this fountain gleamed more gor- 
geously than the great diamond " Koh-i-Noor," or Mountain 
of Light, which, as the Queen's contribution, and standing 
near the fountain on the right, deserves high honor in the cata- 
logue. 

We have you at the fountain. Before you, gush and bubble 
two other fountains, interspersed with tropical plants and every 
variety of flowers. Each one of these flower groups would re- 
ward an hour's view. 



32 THE BRITTLE WONDER, 

But the eye, fond of the garish, espies above, the carpets of 
the Orient and English oil cloths — immense and beautiful, and 
the hangings of a tall and superb pagoda — richer far in color- 
ings, and much more varied in forms, than even the flowers of 
Nature. Far down the hall flame gorgeous gallery hangings. 
In the centre, on the right and left, are lifted above the other 
objects, the combat of the horse and dragon, the Duke of Rut- 
laud, Godfrey de Bouillon, the Bavarian lion — all in bronze or 
plaster, very much magnified, gigantic and imposing ! Do not 
let your eye be distracted by the birds in the large glass cases, 
though gorgeous and glittering. Do not stop to listen to the 
live birds which are flying aiid twittering about the palace, and 
amid the large trees at either end of the transept. Another 
caution — do not let your senses be ravished by the organ and 
harps which, from the galleries, have broken forth into melody, 
vibrating, strangely mild and sweet against and along the vitreus 
corridors. But let the eye, like the gallant Knight of Courtesy, 
Sir GuYON, pass through the Bowers of Bliss, untempted by the 
" silver sweet sound." Let it take in the lofty summer-house of 
bronze, in which Appollo matchlessly stands, after sending his 
arrow through the eagle above ; then, the fur trophy, the Ross 
telescope, the marble pillars, the chemical monuments of alum, 
spermaceti, Rochelle salts, tartrate of potash and soda, illustra- 
tions of Nature's geometry playing into utility ! Nay, go on ! 
See the rich tracery, the superbness and elegance of that altar 
screen of oak ; then the bird trophy, carved by machinery, with 
deep under-cuttings. Passing by the Elizabethan fountains, 
what strange array of glass is that beyond ? What lenticular 
arrangements could produce half the effect ? What is their 
use 1 They are model light-houses, revolving and breaking and 
casting out the light, not for the view of beauty, but for the 
glass and eye of the navigator amid the perils of the deep ! 

Remember that we are passing over the heads of many objects 
in the west half of the building — and these, too, in the midst 
of the aisle. I have not dared to look galleryward. Neither 



A.\l> A EOYAL CHASE. 33 

dare we go, as yet, iuto the compartments of British industry, 
Mrhich lie on either side in great alcoves. At the far west end, 
duplicating the whole exhibition, is the largest mirror in the 
world, 18 feet 8 inches by 10 feet! There are other mirrors 
nearly as large, with frames, some gilt, carved into every sort 
of beasts, birds, creeping thing, flower and vegetable ; to say 
nothing of little Cupids and angels inhabiting the involutions 
which in every part attest the consummation of art. 

This end we have reached by slow procession, moving around 
each department, itself a world's fair in itself, and decorated 
with striking elegance. Here the cool atmosphere enters. No 
oppressive sense from heat, or confined air, disturbs the uniform 
comfort of the building. Although fifty thousand people are 
within, yet there is no jostling, no disturbance. The police 
with their blue coats, brass buttons and glazed hats, are dis- 
tributed, with, a few red coats, around ; and these, without other 
aid, keep the vast mass in order. The English mostly compose 
the mass. A few Chinese, some negroes, French in plenty, and 
some other foreigners — I could not determine what part of the 
world they came from — were mingled with the mass. 

The observations we have hitherto made have been confined 
exclusively to her majesty's dominions. Neither have we devi- 
ated into the apartments, wherein the products of English in- 
dustry are systematically arranged. Systematically ; because 
it was found, upon consideration, that the materials operated 
on, and the results, could be comprehended in thirty classes. 
Grouping, therefore, as to Great Britain, was regulated by the 
character of the productions, while in the east half of the build- 
ing, and in the colonies, they are arranged according to their 
districts. 

We began our examination, and the best could be but slight, 
by proceeding round the western end and down by the south 
wall. Mineral productions and mining, and the agricultural 
implements, we passed by hastily ; then came the splendid as- 
sortment of woven materials, London, Manchester, and Glas- 



34 THE BRITTLE WONDER, 

gow, vieing with each other in this generous rivalry. "Woollen 
and mixed fabrics, and Irish flaxen fabrics, with a loom of ex- 
quisite construction ready to show how the fabrics are woven ; 
these, in all their wondrous variety of figure and style, riveted 
the attention of our ladies, while the gentlemen preferred seeing 
the smooth and intricate machinery in the northeast of the 
palace. Oldham and Manchester, with their cotton works, are 
here reproduced with most pleasing effect. The great business 
of England is, at a glance, observed in motion. 

To depicture the furniture, some elaborately carved and gilt; 
some formed of peculiar woods and arranged in perplexing uni- 
formity and variety ; to reproduce the papier mache tables and 
ornaments, with their gorgeous hues and dazzling beauties ; to 
write down — no ! no ! It cannot be done. 

In passing through one part of this department, we were 
astonished to find the British Bible Society represented by one 
hundred and fifty-eight copies of the Word of Light and Life, 
each in a separate language. There they stood, all opened, with 
their mysterious symbols, — pervaded by the holiest of inspira- 
tion, — cloven tongues of fire, yet dove-like as the Holy Ghost 
which has baptized the zeal and energy of this noble Society, 
preparatory to a new Pentecostal day. Each Bible had its 
peculiarity of impress. The very characters indicated, as plainly 
as the diverse features of the human face, those national diver- 
sities and antagonisms which can only be harmonized by the 
spirit enshrined within these Bibles. To my mind, this peculiar 
exhibition was the crowning trophy of English Industry and 
Genius. The wood and metal trophies from Canada are massive 
evidences of English empire over deep mines and great forests ; 
the India room over the way, lined with gold cloth, filled with 
the furniture of the sumptuous Orient and dazzling with jewels 
from Lahore, in the midst whereof is lying, in humble subjec- 
tion, three strange-shaped diamond-and-gold crowns of Hindoo 
Kings and other tributes from the proud sheiks of the land 
which Alexander and Bonaparte could not comprehend in their 



AND A ROYAL CHASK 35 

conquests, however much they dreamed of the glory, — is another 
trophy of English potency in Central and Southern Asia, god- 
less and cruel though its exercise has been ; those Kangaroo 
skins and coral beauties, jaspers and agates, copper and gold, — 
do they not tell of English rule over antipodal realms in the 
mid-ocean 1 English home-produce, from the circular comb for 
carding wool up to yon splendid steam-ship enginery, from that 
beer barrel machine up to yon process for engraving on steel by 
electricity, from the rudest implement of primitive husbandry 
up to the highest refinement of modern science, — all demonstrate 
a power to dignify ornamental forms by nsc^ and to raise merely 
useful forms into beauty, which should be the great ambition of 
Art ; but all this is powerless and puny beside the triumph 
which radiates from those Bibles, with their lips of fire, this 
moment regenerating the kingdoms of the earth, and pouring 
abroad that light of life 

" which never was on land or sea." 



England, say what we will, stands confessedly the Christian 
realm. Her history, from the time at least of Elizabeth, is full 
of her influence upon the policy of the world, in opening the 
way for the gospel. True, her rapacity has been unbounded. 

"Heav'n, Earth and Ocean plundered of their sweets,'" 

is well attested by this Exhibition. But if China was com- 
pelled to take opium, she had to take the Bible. If Turkey 
looked to England for aid against the Russian domination, free 
toleration to Christians was consequent. 

With the increase of Anglo-Saxon power, there has been 
spread, along with the practicalness of the age, a spirituality 
more divine than the soul, with all its power, hath yet been 
gifted to imagine. 

There is one article in the furniture list which elicited a 
spontaneous burst of admiration from us all, especially the 
ladies, who have been used to seeing homely wooden cradles, 



36 THE BRITTLE WONDER, 

if not sugar troughs. It is called the " Regia Cot," I believe, 
and is thus described : 

A cradle carved in Turkey boxwood, symbolizing the Union 
of 'the Royal House of England with that of Saxe Coburg and 
Gotha. One end exhibits in the centre the armorial bearings 
of her Majesty, the Queen, surrounded by masses of foliage, 
natural flowers and birds ; on the -rocker beneath, is seen the 
head of Night, represented as a beautiful sleeping female, 
crowned with a garland of poppies, supported upon bats' wings, 
and surrounded by seven planets. 

The other end, or the back of the head of the cradle, is de- 
voted to the arms of H. R. H. Prince Albert; the shield occu- 
jiies the centre, and round it, among the arabesque foliage, the 
six crests of the Prince are scattered, with the motto, '" Treu und 
Fest." Below, on the rocker, is discovered a head of " Somnus," 
with closed eyes, and over the chin a wimple, which, on each 
side, terminates in poppies. 

In the interior of the head of the cradle, guardian angels are 
introduced ; and above, the royal crown is imbedded in foliage. 
The friezes, forming the most important part of the sides of the 
body of the cradle, aro composed of roses, poppies, conventional 
foliage, butterflies and birds, while beneatli them rise a variety 
of pinks, studied from nature. The edges and the inside of the 
rockers are enriched with the insignia of royalty and emblems 
of repose. 

Have done quick with this royal baby nest ! Quick ! There 
is a crowd across the aisle among the paper articles. Sure 
enough, there is a curious contrivance ! What ! An envelope 
maker ! folding by one click of a machine an envelope, and pass- 
ing them out by Imndreds. Only a little boy attending it. Now 
that we are over, we may observe the sea-weed arrangements. 
How snugly they lie in their little baskets ! Euclid illustrated 
and illuminated ; a model of St. Paul's cut with a pen-knife, and 
consisting of over 50,000 pieces. Nay, do not start ; there is an 
article in Spain, at the other end of the palace, with three mil- 



AND A ROYAL CHASE. 37 

lions of pieces of inlaid wood ! Most elegant landscapes made in 
this way upon the tables and other furniture, are common. 

Here we are amid the models again. Castles overhung with 
ivy, houses in the old style, complete within and without. Even 
Shakspeare's house is perfectly represented, and the room where 
he was born,y«5^ as it tvas. Now we have the model of a tour- 
nament, now of Knox's house in Edinburgh, now of flower gar- 
dens in every variety, now of a scene upon the Danube, now the 
projected pyramid, in which five millions of cofiins may be pre- 
served ; now we are among the medals, needle-work, pianos, 
porcelain, chandeliers, stained windows; and now, do take breath 
to look at the Shakspeare " Jubileum." Jubi — what? Here is 
dramatic unity for you ! Here we have the heart of the English 
mind in all its windings and ofi"-shoots. Hazlitt has said, " that 
the drama is a root growing through its own age. out of the Past 
into the Future." We have the Jubileum as one of its stray 
blossoms. Upon it is represented every play of Shakspeare, 
from old Sir John in the basket to Richard in his tent of ter- 
rible dreams. A strange medley ! 

Before we leave this end of the building, which we do under 
oriental umbrellas with long silver handles, it would be well, 
simply to glance at those ox-horns eight feet from point to point, 
from Good Hope ; those wild beast skins above, those sleighs 
and furs from Canada, that Indian riding gear, jewelled saddles, 
elephant accoutrements and some other trifles from the British 
Colonies. 

Arm in arm, let us quit this minute examination of articles 
piece by piece, and proceed up the palace and around the gal- 
leries. We are anxious to see what the United States has con- 
tributed. Softly there. To tell the truth, we are rather a 
negative quantity in this exhibition. Passing by the exhibition 
of the European nations, we reach the end set apart for the 
United States. 

Plenty of room was allotted, and the most conspicuous. The 
American eagle " spreads herself" in the west end. over — little 



38 THE BRITTLE WONDER. 

or nothing. Punch could not help but catch at the idea. " No 
eagle," he says, " asking of itself where it should dine, and hov- 
ering in space without a visible mouthful, could represent the 
grandeur of contemplative solitude better than is shown by the 
United States' eagle in the firmament of Mr. Paxton's Crystal. 
This is the more to be lamented, inasmuch as a very little con- 
sideration might have given us the American eagle, with the 
treasures of America gathered below its hovering wings. Why 
not have sent some choice specimens of slaves ? We have the 
Greek captive in dead stone — why not the Virginian slave in 
living ebony?" 

The satire is well pointed. We feel it abroad. The thing 
above all others which I was proud to see in that palace — the 
nonpareil " Slave" of Powers, becomes the occasion of bye-word 
and reproach. The most refined company in the palace were 
gathered about this offspring of our Ohio sculptor, admiring in 
— silence. After passing through the heavy sculpture and gar- 
ish display of the world's art ; after the sense ached to faintness 
with the violence of the colorings of luxury's trapping, it was a 
sweet and cordial relief to stand before the matchless form of 
the pure and simple Greek girl, mourning so deeply, yet so sub- 
duedly, at her fettered destiny. And as we thought of the 
genius of the sculptor, the lines of Shelley glided into the mind, 

" It was for thee, yon kingless sphere has long 
Swung blind in unascended majesty." 

An iron safe is also here, so constructed, that no person but 
the inventor can open it. It is the same owned by Hobbs, who 
is called at home the great lock-king. "At a meeting to-day of 
Americans at Trivort's, I met the genius. He has put all the 
lockmakers here to the blush, and beat Chubbs himself ^y a 
little instrument which he carries in his vest, he picked the best 
lock of England in a few minutes. He stated that £10,000 for- 
feit could be raised by Englishmen alone, to put up against the 
big diamond, provided they would give him a night to pick for 
it, through any lock in England. 



AND A ROYAL CHASE. 39 

Various excuses have been made for our country's defection 
at this exhibition. Tardiness in the governments, distance from 
the Exhibition, and bad arrangements here, have been oifered 
as excuses. We trust that it is not owing to a want of the ma- 
terials to exhibit. Had the last Ohio fair been culled a little, 
it would have been a proud exhibition compared to this. One 
item ; why was there not a model of the Burnet House — a 
standard hotel — sent on here ? It would have been quite a speci- 
men even among the glorious architecture of the Past. And let 
me delicately hint, that a real Burnet House would have been 
an acceptable refuge to us Americans. 

Let us ascend the galleries and take a farewell (for to-day) 
of this "brittle wonder." From a seat near the transept, the 
eye may gather in glorious unity the thousandfold spectacle. 
Look up and down as far as the vision can distinctly reach, and 
you will see but one moving river of humanity, flowing amid 
margins of paintings, hangings, and architectural display ; and 
around isles of fountains, towers, statues, barges, and trophies of 
every color and form ; and under a net-work of silver lucency, 
seeming to be hung in air ! Music mingling with the hum-hum- 
hum of the rustling, eager throng, and with the tinkling of the 
fountains ; birds carolling in the trees before and behind you — 
temples and booths, flags, organs, and segments of churches — not 
severally (for you cannot find the prominent object where none 
has its parallel), but all together strike your bedazzled view as a 

" Glory beyond all Gloiy ever seen." 

Can ye not believe in something transcendent, as the 
eifluence of this universal jubilee of Industry in its crystal 
home ? Hear ye not prophetic harpings weaving their spell 
of enchantment, while genius paints undyiag pictures of that 
promised day, when " war shall cease and conquest be abjured," 
when garlands from every clime shall be brought to deck the 
Tree of Liberty ! 



40 THE BRITTLE WONDER, 

The eye would fain close on the scene and commit it to the 
more facile play of the imagination. To attempt to delineate 
it, so that he who reads may see, is as vain as to attempt to 
" paint chaos, make a portrait of Proteus, or to fix the figure 
of the fleeting air." We must only attempt in our further ac- 
quaintance with its contents, to select isolated objects, with 
their several utilities. 

Our jaded spirits were revived by a little incident upon the 
street, as we drove homeward. There is no particular harm in 
an American getting a glimpse of a Queen ; as, happily. Queens 
are such rare birds in our land. Let no harsh Republican mis- 
take the motive which prompted the exploit, which issued in 
a full view of royalty. We left the Crystal Palace, about six 
P. M. Our minds were completely wearied with the vision 
of the glorious structure and its splendid contents — the array 
of diamonds and gold — India riches. French elegance, German 
ingenuity, and British ' all sorts.' Pondering these things, yet 
with eyes about us for the inirabile of the metropolis, we 
drove down Green Park (these London parks, oh ! but they are 
emerald gems in their rough setting of aristocratic mortar !) 
and into famous Oxford street ; — When lo ! a couple of out- 
riders dressed in red — then a splendid open carriage (it was a 
bright day), drawn by six horses with red riders, then — (keep 
cool !) two other riders with livery ; and then — (steady sir !) 
two other red fellows, with canes and on horseback, who looked 
as savage as catamounts at a hack driver that did not give way 
immediately. This unexpected array rather beclouded our 
senses, already intoxicated with the sights of fountains, gold 
cloths, pagodas, carpets, trees, Hindoo rooms, statuary, afid 
every thing else conceivable in the world. It was a theatrical 
show in every deed — a dashing splendor ! 

What can it mean ? My head goes out inquiringly. I see 
hats going ofi" on both sides. Drivers give way. " I say driver — 
isn't that the queen herself!" " It's 'ur zur." Hurrah ! " Then 
drive after — give chase — extra shilling — crack up — all right ! 



AND A EOYAL CHASE. 41 

we're sovereigns ourselves, sir ; give us an equal chance to the 
pave !" Away dashed royalty in her elegant coach ! away 
dashed — we, in an indifferent four-wheeled cab ! I noticed as 
we passed a little fellow dressed in a silver-laced caja — a hand- 
some little fellow, and quite a pretty little girl on the front 
seat ; and behind, the Queen, an ordinarily dressed and tolerable 
good-looking woman — not unlike Mrs. A., Mrs. B., or Mrs. 
C, of our humble vicinage. 

AV^e sovereigns of America gained on her of England. The 
outriders did 7iot look savagely around at us ; but as we got 
pretty close, to our utter amazement and mortification, the 
Queen herself turned round, and gave us a good-natured look 
and a full view. We had a hearty laugh at our good fortune, ■> 
and came home full of the Exhibition, and feeling quite royally. 



IV. 

5lii (Bu^Mj Intnrnnlic. 

" Away they go ! One retires to his country-liouse, and another Is engaged at a horse- 
race ; and as to their country !'' 

tTunins. 

WHO has not read Oliver Goldsmith's " Citizen of the 
World ?" The remarks of his Chinese pilgrim in London 
seem to be applicable to myself He felt himself as a newly 
created being, introduced into a new world in which, although 
every object strikes with wonder and surprise, yet the imagina- 
tion is still unsated. Although the world has passed through 
it in exhibition ; and London with her majestic architecture, 
regal parks, and soul-thrilling historical associations has been 
around and within, still imagination seems to be the only active 
principle of the mind. The most trifling occurrence gives 
pleasure until the gloss of novelty is worn away. When I have 
ceased to wonder, I may possibly grow wise ; I may then call 
the reasoning principle to my aid, and compare those objects 
with each other, which were before examined without reflec- 
tion. 

It is a beautiful May morning. Birds are singing. Their 
shrill sweetness rises even above the " London cries." To me 
it seems strange that the painters upon the building opposite, 
do not start or tumble down, at the unearthly whoops, groans, 
yells, and yawns below them, which announce the vender of 
something. I could only distinguish one vegetable in the med- 
ley, — " Atvs-paivr-goose !" If Bedlam were out a-Maying, it 
would do justice to these ' cries' — to my novel hearing. 

In these transcripts from the eye, I know that I am unable 



AlV jenglish satuenalia. 43 

to disseminate any useful principle, or afford any useful instruc- 
tion. Beautiful parks and lofty monuments pass so rapidly in 
view, that my stare at them is almost vacant. The highest part 
of our human nature is not exercised. There can be no commu- 
nion of soul with them as yet. We might gaze for ever and 
gratify the pleasure-loving propensity, and return home no wiser 
than we departed. But when one goes out into the English 
country, as I did on Thursday to Epsom, on the great Derby 
race day, the scenes of nature, with their hedges and vistas of 
trees, their meadows and cottages, all assemble upon the thresh- 
old of the mind, and many — very many, of these beauties enter 
into the internal economy of ideas and sentiment, there fadelessly 
to bloom — there continually to awaken something correspondent 
to their hue, form, and grandeur. I might reproduce these 
descriptions ; but there is so much of human nature to com- 
mune with ou this Derby day, that I forbear. Besides, as Dr. 
Cheever has well said, mere descriptions, be the scenery ever so 
grand, are cloying and tiresome. It is like living upon pound- 
cake and cream, or rather upon whip-syllabub. 

A Derby day awakens more interest in London, than any 
other day in the Calendar. Every vehicle, from the splendid 
coach of Royalty and Dukery to the humble dog-cart and pony 
phaeton of the mechanic and shopman, are in requisition. Five 
thousand pounds is the stake, and millions more in the shape of 
bets are in the scale. The " nobs" (as the nobility are famil- 
iarly called), with their four-in-hand coaches, are the prominent 
actors in the day. They own most of the race-horses. 

But we will start ourselves. Lunch being prepared, and a 
vehicle entered, we hurry by the gorgeous array in Oxford and 
Regent-streets, pass the parks, those green metropolitan lungs, 
and give a hasty glance at the statue of Canning. Now Trafal- 
gar square appears, and the Nelson monument long detains the 
lingering sight. It is the finest place in London for a monu- 
ment. The column and statue are 177 feet high. The statues 
of the Georges III. and IV. , are near, and serve to show oflf 



44 ^^ ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 

this splendid monument to England's naval glory. The Na- 
tional Gallery is opposite ; but the Nelson jjillar detracts from 
every other object. Its bas-reliefs represent the famous battle 
of Trafalgar. How the eye swims as it upward g^zes at the 
fi^re. A coil of rope relieves the pediment upon which he is 
placed. 

Up in the broad day's histre doth it stand, 
A cokimn raised to dear and dazzling fame, 
Mounting with pi-ide the bosom of the land. 
And stamping glory there M'ith Kelson's name. 

And yet methiuks, that face lifted up so prominently in the 
" bosom of the land " doth blush, if not in the broad day's lus- 
tre, yet at evening's reddening glow, when contemplation de- 
lights in j3ure thoughts and virtuous actions. Read Nelson's 
private life. Doth not the sea through which he sailed become 
incarnadine with shame 1 

How much of debauchery and wretchedness has been caused 
by the force of that splendid example which the monumental 
structures of England have illustrated, can only be known in 
that day, when the Judge of all shall winnow the purity of a 
heart from the glory of a name, and leave the latter as chaff for 
the fire. 

Soon we came in sight of old Westminster. How streaked 
and blackened with age look the old towers ! How the heart 
swells with the vast proportions ! Tracery, towers, niches, sta- 
tues, frieze, and every other architectural appliance which ren- 
der the Gothic a wilderness of arching foliage, "star proof" in 
its woven web of beauty, are here in profuse variety. And the 
Abbey — the most interesting place in England — the urn of her 
greatness — the treasury of her genius — the Conqueror of Time; 
— does it not shut out all other objects? But we must reserve 
our thoughts until we go within. 

The Derby will start before we run over our 20 miles to 
the turf. Now we dart down toward Vauxhall, and " Father 
Thames" is emptying his pitcher beneath us. How many re- 



• AN ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 45 

flections seem cast in his waters. How splendid he seemed to 
the imagination, before we looked down upon his familiar face. 
The English poets had never seen our western streams — the 
magnificent Mississippi and the beautiful Ohio, else they would 
not have extolled so highly the charms of this little river. 
True, grandeur hath gathered many monuments of fame and 
pride upon its banks, and Art hath created landscapes which 
'•peep into its tide ;" but Nature was never less prodigal 'than in 
her decoration of the Thames. 

We saw St. James's palace beyond the Green Park, with the 
royal arms floating in the sunshine, a sign of the presence of the 
Queen. It was a scene thronging with recollections. There 
once stood the hospital dedicated to St. James, for the reception 
of the fourteen leprous maidens. — What tales could those old 
stones tell ! — There Charles the First attended divine service, 
before he walked through the Park to his scaffold at Whitehall. 
In that very palace. Monk and Sir John Geanville planned the 
Restoration. There, within our vision, 

" through the towers, amidst his ring 



Of Vans and Mynheers rode the Dutchman King, 
And there did England's Goneril thrill to hear 
The shouts that triumphed o'er her crownless Lear." 

Yonder, old Harry the Eighth chuckled at the jokes of his 
witty Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, to say nothing of the vile 
pranks of that pure •' Defender of the Faith." There Walpole 
practised his shameless venality, and Bolingbroke (Pope's 
Majcenas) lounged up to see the queenly Anne. Now, amid the 
whirl and stir, the present usurps the past, and St. James's be- 
comes the home of the little Victoria and her numerous family, 
the sight of whom, as detailed in our last chapter, tickled our 
democratic feelings. 

Five bridges span the Thames, over one of which, Vauxhall, 
we ride toward Epsom. Granite and iron make Vauxhall oply 
second to Waterloo bridge. From it we have a view, as yet a 
little misty, of the most splendid architectural display in Great 



46 ^N ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 

Britain. I mean the new Houses of Parliament. They front 
the Thames, and extend to the water's edge. It is ower true, as 
one of England's poets has said, that the Thames does not re- 
semble any of those streams whose foam is amber, and whose 
gravel, gold. Dirty-looking, even to the depth of filthiness, is 
her appearance. Can she be the same crystal mirror in which 
Eton and Windsor dress themselves every day in their Gothic 
costumes? Her " oozy bed" is no doubt full of argosies which 
contain the riches of the Indies; but there are some riches there 
imbedded which are neither beautiful nor fragrant. The river 
is washed out by the tide twice a day — quite a consolation to 
the nose-possessing and water-drinking community. 

Now we are fairly over into Surrey. Vehicles are beginning 
to close in. We are compelled to walk, and even to stand still. 
Three abreast, yet packed close, and not within seventeen miles 
of Epsom. Does it not beat every thing? It is the English 
Saturnalia. Every body is privileged to joke every body. ' Nobs ' 
joke 'snobs;' and donkey carts sauce 'Hansom cabs.' — Club 
men in their coaches halloo to pretty boarding-school misses, 
peeping over their green walls, which line the pike, who snicker 
and chuckle. Old Johnny Bull, red with jollity, rides along, 
" holding both his sides." Now and then a smash and curses 
announce something serious. We ourselves had the honor of 
being bumped by Lord Strathmore's carriage, and took the 
license of the day to caution his Lordship. — Toll-gates and 
hiring taxes (?) are collected. Stopping and walking, we finally 
pass through the last gate, and dash away over the furzy Downs. 

The prospect from the Downs is magnificent. Far below, 
and very distant, is seen the elements of English civilization — 
rail-cars pufiing, roads lined with hedges ; farms laid out like 
gardens, and gardens like paradises ; towers standing upon 
high points, and, as we turn about, we see the stand and turf of 
Epsom ! 

Although we were a long time getting to Epsom, we are 
glad to find the "Derby" is not run. Let us mount upon the 



AN ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 47 

top of the vehicle and look around. For miles, right and left, 
iare the people. The best part of a million are here assembled ; 
among them are the royal house of Prussia, with their cream- 
colored team, as well as the poorest ragamuffin, just discharged 
from Old Bailey, with his stick and crownless hat. — The track is 
upon a side-hill turf, and is in excellent order. It is a hundred 
feet wide, but hardly distinguishable in the mingled mass of men. 
There is a little valley between us and the turf A continuous 
rise is used, which affords a fine prospect of the race. The stand 
is on the other side, and its adjacent booth is perfectly black 
with heads. All around it for acres is the same phenomena. 
Now a bell rings. The police march up the track to clear it. 
Every body is opening baskets. Wines and sodas pop ; sand- 
wiches and shrimps appear ; pies and birds are demolished, 
amid cries of " water," " oranges," — " who wants a card of the 
races 1 " Fiddling and horn-tooting all around, — a fool dancing 
in woman's clothes, with a red calash on his head, and a parasol, 
mimicking fine ladies, while the fine ladies in lordly carriages 
are looking on laughingly ; gipsies, wild in look and with eyes 
dark and sinister, are roving about. — See, they have that young 
man ! " Tell your fortune, pretty gentleman? You ivill be for- 
tunate, oh, yes ! only leave a gipsy a sixpence, sir ; will be a 
lucky one in the race, sir, " and with other like remarks, she 
hangs on like a snapping turtle. All these scenes are transpiring, 
while an enormous shout and laugh go up from the crowd along the 
ropes. The police had cleared the track — it is only a dog or 
a loafer trying to run across, with a policeman after. Away 
'they go in a mimic race ! 

The coast is clear. With a glass, you may see the many co- 
lored jockeys mounting. Now comes the preparatory galloping 
(to loosen the horses' joints. Up they ride, and bets begin to run 
by colors. All now is still. We cannot see the start. The cry 
rises, " they're ofi"!" The black heads in and around the stand 
have become a sea of upturned faces. We hear the tramp of 
ihorses on the distant turf Horsemen ride over the hill to catch 



48 -A^' ENGLIHII SATURNALIA. 

the sight. Now the race-horses appear around the hill nearly all 
together ; yet so far distant, that they seem to move slowly ; 
soon they begin to be clearly distinguished. " Hurrah for the 
blue-cap ! — hurrah for the red ! — black cap and pink ahead !" In 
fine style they dash between the anxious heads. The tug is be- 
tween the black cap and pink, and blue. Thousands are staked 
upon the result. The cry is, now for one — now for the other ! 
On they all "bicker and burn to gain the expected goal." In a 
twinkling they dash home. The number is run up, and the wel- 
kin rings and re-rings with the shout of immense multitudes. 
The track is soon broken over. The throng rushes toward the 
stand. The Derby is done and won ! Millions have been lost 
and gained. Freely pop the wine bottles of the victors ; merrily 
ring their laughs ! Up rise thousands of carrier pigeons to an- 
nounce the result abroad ! 

Now comes a scene which carries us back to the good old 
days of Queen Bess — such as Scott describes in his Kenilworth 
— the days of the tournaments. Rings are formed. Circus 
sports are going on upon the turf ; dancing girls are soon trans- 
muted by some magic from ordinary females ; magical gentle- 
men begin to throw up rings, butcher-knives, etc. ; music breaks 
out from all sides ; gipsies burst anew from their tents ; and — 
hark ! — " 'ansum and hinteresting presents for hinfants ! only a 
penny ! 'ave one sir ?" — " 'Ere's silver-tipped buttons for 'olding 
coats together — made out of coal !" " Sody-water ! Ginger- 
beer-r-r !" and a hundred other cries. Beyond the turf, the 
manly sports are going on, such as firing at targets, pitching at 
points, and divers other things to me unknown. The turf was 
cleared again — another race — the same excitement ; the air is 
again filled with pigeons, who dart around for awhile uncertain 
where to go ; then off with their news. 

Again, we are upon the road homeward, amid the flowery 
meadows, and the hedges or walls of ivy, and sometimes of 
flowers. The trees look so trim and perfect. Each for itself 
seems " dressed in ' living green." As well attempt to separate 



AN ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 49 

color from the rainbow, or extension from matter, as Beauty 
from these vistas made by the lines of elm, flowering chestnut 
and birch, filled with their little winged singing people. The 
leaves will grow in freshness, and the robins, thrushes, and 
larks, like Jenny Lind, must, although they know not why — be 
" singing." 

On our road to London, we find every bod}^ out to see the 
'■'• Derby " return. It sometimes comes home boozy. Long 
arrays of Charity scholars in their uniforms, and boys from 
school are out, under the charge of masters. Policemen are 
stationed all along. Within five miles of London, the road is 
lined ten or twenty deep. Punch and Judy, negro singers, 
dancers, bag-pipers from Scotland, are mingled with the throng, 
performing. Every body is privileged to say what comes upper- 
most Although an entire stranger amid this crowd of myriads, 
I drank several imaginary healths from off my seat, to gentle- 
men with mugs on the top of the walls ; exchanged spunk with 
the spunky, laughs with the good-natured, words with the fami- 
liar, and altogether felt at home. Wit and humor followed us 
through the large commons into the very city. We thought we 
had left London at Epsom, but the million seemed to be waiting 
for their horse-racing brethren to return. 

The moral effect of these vast assemblages, patronized as 
they are by royalty itself, (for the Queen has her stand,) it is not 
for me to speak of. The Englishman prepares his "book of bets" 
a year beforehand, and comes up yearly to offer his incense to his 
favorite racer. We have in America very few of these sportive 
gatherings. Some regard it as a great defect in our social 
organism. Let such remember that the sun, which by its genial 
heat proitiotes the growth of vegetation, produces also by its 
heat the poisonous vapor. 

We have lost a day from the Exhibition, but we were com- 
pensated by many insights into English manners and character, 
which long months of ordinary residence could not give. We 
saw a nation forgetful of itself, its dignity, its glory, and the 



50 AN ENGLISH SATURNALIA. 

" relict radiance of its past ages," besotting itself with tbe 
enthusiasm of beast-racing, and the intoxication of gambling. 
Can this be the England whose abbeys, monuments, and palaces 
of stone and crystal, rise so proudly in her metropolis? Strange 
and uncouth, sounds this revel of racing, amid these hallowed 
localities, where Antiquity is a presence and a power ; as strange 
and as uncouth as would a vacant laugh or a squeaking fiddle 
amidst the diapason and " Te Deum," which rolls and swells 
along the fretted roof of the cathedral ! 



V. 

"Yet who not listens with delighted sraile 
To the pure Saxon of that silver style." 

New Tlmon. 

THROUGH the kindness of our Minister, Mr. Lawrence, I 
received a ticket for the House of Commons. By its 
potency, I found myself at five last evening occupying (per- 
haps by mistake) a seat in the little lobby, connected with, 
and reserved for the House of Lords. The galleries above were 
pretty full, mostly of Americans ; for strangers fi-om the Conti- 
nent seldom visit the ' Commons.' My company was rather 
more aristocratic than I had been accustomed to. However, 
taking a stranger's privilege, I learned from my right-hand 
man, whom I afterwards found out to be Lord Lyndhurst, the 
late Lord High Chancellor, and from those in front, one of 
whom was the Earl of Minto, late Ambassador to Rome, and 
father-in-law of the Premier — all I wanted to know as to the 
rules and constitution of the House, re^jaying them in kind, by 
answering their queries as to ozcr legislative assemblies. Let 
me here say, that however exclusive the English nobility seem 
in the streets and in their houses, there is a perfect courtesy 
and urbanity among those whom I here observed. There was 
a full attendance of the Commons, and a large number of the 
upper house present to hear the discussion on the Catholic bill. 
The House is opposite Westminster Abbey. You reach the 
Hall through long passages guarded by several porters. It 
is not much larger than our Senate room in Columbus, rather 



52 



THE COMMONS. 



longer, not so wide. There is but one desk under the speaker's 
chair, in which three wigged gentlemen sit scribbling. The 
speaker is gowned and wigged. He is a large, red-faced, thick- 
tongued, old Saxon, full of verbosity and consequence. He is 
the only member who has his hat off. It strikes an American 
strangely, to see the deliberative gravity of the greatest power 
in Christendom, sitting ranged in seats, with their hats on. This 
custom will, perhaps, account for the number of bald heads 
among the English. You cannot see their eyes or faces except 
when they arise to speak. At first blush one is apt to condemn 
the assembly, as a convention of stupidity and carelessness. 
Yet there is an agreeable surprise, in finding so much ease, and 
compared to my previous fancy, so very little formality in the 
arrangement and conduct of the House. 

The preliminary business being over, a Quakerly dressed 
man (you might know that it is Bright, Cobden's free-trade, 
right-hand man !) rises to complain of a trick of the Secretary 
of the Treasury, and is responded to by the Speaker. By his 
gestures you may discern where and how parties are arranged. 
On the left, upon the lowest bench, sits Lord John Russell, his 
hat down over his head, as Punch caricatures him. Upon the 
left-hand side and near, are the supporters of the Government. 
Opposite you may see an intelligent-looking, black and curly- 
haired, neatly dressed gentleman. That is D'Isuaeli, the au- 
thor of " Tancred," and the conservative leader. Just above 
him is Mr. Walpole, a rising man, who (as I was informed by 
a noble Lord) would be the conservative Attorney General in 
case of a change. This is the Tory, Protection, or Conservative 
wing. At this end, near where I sit, are the Irish members, 
most of them in opposition just now to the Government, on ac- 
count of the " ecclesiastical titles' bill," which is the theme for 
to-night's debate. Still, the Irish members do not act together 
against the Govei-nment, as is indicated by the position of John 
O'Connell, that red-faced, good-natured, stumpy man just facing 
the Speaker, on neither side. He is on the fence. You may 



THE COMMONS. 53 

tell the Irish members by their faces, without hearing a word 
of brogue. 

My impression, when first looking upon this scene, was one 
of deep disai^pointment. It is cruel to have one's anticipations 
crushed so suddenly, when there is crushed with them so much 
of greatness, splendor, and ability, which have ever been asso- 
ciated in the mind with the English Parliament. I said to my- 
self almost bitterly, " Is this the famous Parliament wherein 
Sir Edward Coke, Selden, Prynne, Harry Vane, Pym, 
Hampden, and ' Old Noll," battled the kingly prerogative of 
the Tudor and the Stuart ; declaring by charters and bills of 
right, ' Apologies' and remonstrances, that there was no other 
source of legislation or revenue, than this their own Commons, 
one of the estates of the realm, whose laws could brook no ' dis- 
pensing' from kingcraft? Is this stupid-looking, hat-wearing, 
vociferating body, the same ordeal through which St. John, by 
the persuasion of his eloquence, and the force of his invective, 
and through which the young cornet Pitt, by the command of 
his eloquence entered the portals of power, to lose it by becom- 
ing respectively Bolingbroke and Chatham — lords yet more 
than 7:?6'frs of the uj^per house? Is this the forum where Ed- 
mund Burke displayed the riches of his lore and the glory of 
his imagination — where Sheridan electrified the house with his 
wit? where North, the Palinurus of the State, slept through 
the assaults of the best genius of England, leaving his haughty 
solicitor and attorney to pilot his sleeping course and defend 
his waking course ? Is this the theatre where Gteorge Canning, 
whose statue I just passed in the twilight, starred his short 
season of ministerial power — where the younger Pitt, by severe 
and never-failing logic, held so long the rule of British politics 
during its severest storms — where Fox " graced the fervor " of 
the hour, by winged words which bore the spirit of great deeds? 
Can it be that in this assemblage there still" lives a single 
breath of the old vitality, which made, to my mind, the English 
House of Commons the finest arena for intellectual tilting the 



54 THE COMMONS. 

world has witnessed, since Athens boasted her Agora with her 
Pericles and Demosthenes ; or Rome her forum with her Tully 
and Hortensius ? Is this the scene of Wilkes and his agita- 
tion ? Was it here that the proud shade of Junius hovered, to 
collect the rays of that reason and indignation wherewith to 
illumine the English constitution and consume its enemies ? 
It was here that my throbbing heart expected to find fulfilled 
Burke's graceful idea of sovereignty, " modest S2}k?idoi-, unas- 
suming state^ mild majesty^ and sober pomp^'' 

Scarcely had the debate on the Popery bill began, before all 
these reflections were put to rout by a movement of the parlia- 
mentary appetite. There was a rush after — supper. An Irish 
member. Mr. Reynolds, formerly Lord Mayor of Dublin, hit 
the incident oif very happily. He arose, as Ireland generally 
does, amid groans of '' Oh !" He perceived that some Hon. 
members were anxious to dine. A celebrated English poet had 
said that "wretches hang that jurymen may dine." — Now he 
would not assert that some Hon. gentlemen would hang the 
Pope "rather than eat their mutton cold," but he believed they 
would not hesitate to make short work in passing a bill of pains 
and penalties rather than incur that misfortune. (A laugh.) 

I was however doomed to be disappointed. My first impres- 
sions proved erroneous. It was my good fortune to hear what 
my informants denominated their '•' clcvcresV men. 

The motion pending was that of Tom Duncombe, as he is 
familiarly known — a Radical, and a genuine trump, besides be- 
ing a handsome, black-eyed, black-haired, graceful personage. 
Mr. Duncombe had moved that the first clause of the bill, pun- 
ishing those who take titles under the Pope, be ^^ostjjoned until 
the House should be in possession of the brief, rescript, or letters 
apostolical, upon which the enacting clause was founded ; and 
he proceeded to make what was called a decided hit, between 
wind and water. 

He poured hot shot right over the heads and into the eyes 
of the ministers, charging them with deserting the principles of 



THE COMMOm. 55 

the Emancipation Act of 1829, and denouncing the Preamble to 
the present bill compared with that of 1829, as miserable, wretch- 
ed, narrow-minded and pettifogging. The speech was directed 
to the subject of the motion. He contended that mere public 
notoriety, or " common clamor" (to use the Saxon) was not the 
evidence for grave legislation. This speech called out the legal 
advisers of the government, who played the game of stave-off 
nicely. The Solicitor Greneral is a tall, white-headed, good- 
natured man, of imperfect enunciation. Indeed, I noticed that 
very few of the speakers failed to stutter a good deal. — D'Isra- 
ELi was a perfect stammerer throughout. What he said was 
pointed, but his manner was very indifferent. The most grace- 
ful elocution was that of Mr. Walpole, whose finely woven words 
trilled musically upon the ear, as he tendered the conservative 
force to the government, by which they are enabled to pass their 
bill. But Roebuck is the Slasher of the Parliament. He does 
not mince matters quite so much. — Every other member has 
his '• right honorable and learned friend from so-and-so," over 
twenty times in a ten minutes' speech. Iloebuck cuts to the 
marrow every thrust. His under lip curls over in scorn ; but he 
met more than his match in the tall, gray-whiskered, courtly, 
precise and business-like Home Secretary, Sir George Grey. 
He looked to me the ablest man in the Cabinet. Lord John 
Russell made a short and very pointed speech, displaying both 
tact and good nature. He always comes in to the help of his 
adjutants when they are pushed to the wall, and leads them off. 
The Premier of England, whom I had a good opportunity to see, 
is a little man with a high forehead, bright eyes, and hair some- 
what minus, but straggling over his face. He sits perfectly 
quiet, with his countenance under deep shadow, so that it is 
impossible to tell whether the arrows strike home or not. 

Let me not fail to commend the brevity and pith of the 
English speakers. Up they start in a twinkling, the hat coming 
off simultaneously. They preamble little, but shoot right at the 
white ; reserve their antithetic brilliance for the conclusion, 



56 'i'ilK COMMONS. 

which is hardly uttered, before the hat is on and they di'op ! If 
you should put a pistol ball through the heart, you could not 
bring them down quicker. There is no loud bawling in speak- 
ing, save among the Irish. But the cheers, cries of " hear" 
and at times the perfect Babelism of the House, is as comical as 
it is novel to an American. Tittlebat Titmouse, when he imi- 
tated a menagerie, was accounted, for that purpose, an efficient 
M. P. I can now understand the eloquence of Tittlebat's zoologi- 
cal demonstration. When his vmtimely groan caused a ministry, 
in the full tide of power, to resign, he reached an eminence of 
pai'liamentary celebrity wholly unprecedented ; because no one 
but Tittlebat could ever have had the insensibility necessary to 
the occasion. But the clamor is soon over. The member either 
takes advantage of the cheers and interjections, or never heeds 
them. 

The Irish members seemed anxious to find out if government 
intended to put the Popery bill in force in Ireland. The bill 
is general, and includes Ireland. They could get no direct 
response ; although Mr. Keogii, a witty and able speaker, 
pressed them closely. 

During the debate I was startled by a cry from one of the 
wigs, of " strangers, withdraw ! " Then, just as we were about 
to leave, the cry was " order," and the first command withdrawn. 
Directly on finishing the debate on Duneombe's motion, the 
command was repeated. We all went into a lobby, while a 
division of the House was called. It was a novel procedure. 
As it was explained to me, the members all march out, then 
march in ; while at two points their vote is registered. This 
process lasted about a half an hour, the bell in the mean time 
ringing in absentees. I undertook to commend our j)lan of 
taking the ayes and noes ; but I believe that even our plan has 
been improved by a Yankee. 

During the discussion an odd procedure took place. A wig 
and gown appeared at the door of the House, accompanied by a 
lawyer. His queue trembled with conscious importance, as it 



TEE COMMONS. 57 

moved up the aisle. Out jumped from a large chair, a little 
man in black tights with a big sword ! Pretty soon, down 
marched an officer with a large gilded instrument : 

" May I be permitted to inquire, sir, if that — that — stick 
yonder, is — Cromwell's bauble — the mace 1 " 

'■ You're quite right, sir. It's the bauble — ha ! ha ! You 
Americans don't pay much respect to such legislative symbols !" 

The man with the mace and sword marched the others up 
to the Speaker, who mumbled over something. It was doubt- 
less a message from the upper house. I could see in it, though 
disguised, the original of our own modus operandi. The mace 
was carefully laid out of sight, and I much edified. 

From the vote given, one may see what the Parliament of 
England is about. For some months past they have debated, 
and for some months to come they will debate, a measure of 
penalty, which a new rescript of the Pope may avoid ; and 
which, when enacted, will serve as an excellent mode of perse- 
cuting into the Catholic Church a goodly number of Her Majes- 
ty's loyal subjects.) It sounded strange to my ears, to hear ih6 
old statutes oi 2)'^e?nunire, and other obsolete enactments of the 
time of Richard II., quoted in this English Parliament and in 
this nineteenth century, as precedents for present legislation 
against Pio Nono Papa ! Titus Gates is not dead yet. The 
Premier lately declared his belief in a Popish plot to subvert 
the liberties of the people ; and upon this belief, and a harmless 
letter making Dr. Wiseman an ecclesiastical officer of an English 
locality, is to be based a law of intolerance^,which even James 
II. would have been ashamed to sanction, f When will England 
learn the beautiful truths of free toleration 1 When will she 
leave accountability in spiritual matters to GrOD alone ? When 
will she learn the significance of the first Amendment to the 
Constitution of the United States, in its application to human 
societies of divers religions and sects : " Congress shall make 
no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting 
the free exercise thereof" 




58 THE COMMONS. 

But we would not judge her harshly from whom we have 
received such rich legacies of political wisdom. Well we know 
that the ecclesiastical polity of England has been growing for 
ages, and intertwisting its fibres with her civil polity. To pull 
it down, both mvist be uptorn. For that event England is not 
yet prepared. Time is the innovator in England. With a Queen 
so young and popular, and to whom we may almost apply the 
adulatory poetry of Lord Coke (the only poetry he ever com- 
mitted,) to Queen Elizabeth, that, as the " rose is the queen 
among flowers, and smelleth more sweetly when it is plucked 
from the branch, so I may say and justify, that she, by just 
desert, is the queen of queens, not only by royal descent, but by 
roseal beauty also," — with such a Queen the loyal spirit of Eng- 
land is blindly enamored. The disfranchised and tax-ridden 
millions, and the poor, who also number by millions, must still 
cry to Heaven for relief; for England's hat and hurrah will go 
up for Victoria so long as she wields the sceptre. This loyalty 
operates to stem reform. 

Give England an unpopular head, such as she had in the 
time of Junius, and Truth and Justice will no longer become 
hollow words to " make earth sick and Heaven weary," and reli- 
gious tolei-ation may ingraft some of our own features upon the 
Constitution of England. 



VI. 

Hnhr tjjB Crifstnl nn^ in i\)t ^hx\i 

"The life of man is much beiioUlen to the mechanica! Arts; there being many things con- 
ducing to the ornament of religion, to the grace of civil discipline, and to the beautifying of 
all human kind, produced out of their treasures. " Bacon. 

k FTER the rural racing jaunt of yesterday, we are again on our 
-L\- way to the Great Exhibition. We pass the barracks, ai-ound 
which we see red-coats keeping sentinel. On the walls is writ- 
ten, in big letters of chalk, so that the wayfaring man, though a 
fool, can read ; " You bloody Saxons ;" and directly under it ; 
" No bloody popery ! " Thus do the chance scribblings of the 
" vulgar " show the effervescence of the public mind. These two 
signs upon the house of Force — do they not state the question 
which was debated the other night by England's best minds % 
Write that debate out, and boil it down, and it is vstill " bloody 
Saxon " and " bloody Popery." 

We should be, indeed, culpable, if before we reach the pa- 
lace, we failed to notice the elegant gates and delightful gardens 
which adorn Hyde Park. This Park is 360 acres, or more, in 
area. It has many gates. The most costly and beautiful is the 
principal entrance. It cost over seventy thousand pounds alone. 
It is of the most exquisite carving, and forms a fitting portal to 
so spacious and inviting a spot. Nearly all of this part of Lon- 
don has been built within ten years. Lofty mansions, cities of 
squares, crescents, terraces, noble streets and avenues, fine 
churches and great gardens, are all about us. Lots of land 
which, in the early part of the last century, brought $60 rent 
per year, now bring $60,000. 



GO UNDER THE CRYSTAL, 

But the Exhibition opens. We entex- at the east entrance, 
finding the United States at work fitting up its department. We 
trust in the end our Union will make a fit and appropriate show. 
The Times, in speaking of our meagre collection, makes this re- 
mark : " They don't ' whip all nature hollow,' but they have sev- 
eral very interesting machines, and the useful character of their 
display as a whole, forms a really striking contrast to the showy 
attributes of the national industries developed around them." 
It is true. There is not so much to catch the eye by the gairish 
display of our contribution. While crowds surround the Queen 
of Spain's crown and bracelets, with their jewelled splendors — 
while the Indian elephant-saddles have their hosts about them 
— while the French silver and porcelain tea-service, wrought into 
every modification of beauty, catch the sight — while the great 
English carpet, woven by the fifty loyal ladies of London for 
the Queen, has its throng of admirers — while the Tunissian 
pack-saddles and brocade costumes, the Milan sculpture, the 
Wurtemberg stufied animals, the French tapestry, (oh ! how 
anagnificently regal !) each and all are cynosures for eager gazers, 
our American collection boasts of the titile, non dulce. 

I spoke of Hobbs, the lock king, in a former chapter. I met 
him to-day, and he explained his lock, which is on exhibition. 
It is a permutating lock. The key makes the lock. The mod- 
ifications which may be made in it are only 1,307,654.358,000 ! 
It would take a person more than a Methuselah's age to use 
these mutations. He opened the lock and explained its inti-i- 
eate complexity. It is a wonder, and excites attention in the 
United States department only next to the Greek Slave. 

Upon this day we began to visit the nations in the east end 
of the building, skipping Russia, whose articles are detained by 
Baltic ice, and commencing with the German states under the 
Zollverein. A fine piece of statuary representing the Bac- 
chantes, attracts our attention, while, as if firing at the tipsy 
followers of the vine-god, is pointed a splendid gun, glittering 
like a mirror. Next comes an exact imitation of the towers of 



AND IN THE PARK. 61 

Heidelberg, complete to the smallest rock. We have a model 
of Niagara Falls here, but it is a miserable one, affording no ade- 
quate idea of the extent of the fall. It is spread over some 
miles, consequently the cataract looks puny enough. 

Prussia has one of the most entrancing rooms in the palace. 
It is lit with colored glass, all figured richly with recesses 
around, wherein is arranged statuary, paintings, and porcelain 
frames. We noticed a chess-board, costing $15,000, carved out 
of silver, set with jewels, and each knight, king, queen, and 
bishop, a perfect gem of carving in itself 

Prince Albert's birth-place, Rosenau Castle, in Saxe Coburg, 
had its model — a most bewitching piece. The German lasses 
were waltzing upon the green sward, while a German holiday 
had gathered its thousands about the castle. While seeing so 
many fine representations of scenery, and knowing how muni- 
ficent nature has spread her beauties in my own American land? 
could I help wishing for some of Cole's landscapes of Hudson or 
Susquehanna scenery? Could I help wishing for a faithful 
portrait of that nature which Bryant, in a sonnet to the painter, 
reminds him before going to Europe, to bear uppermost in his 
mind : 

"Lone lakes, savannas where the bison roves, 
Rocks rich with summer garlands, solemn streams: 
Skies where the desert eagle wheels and screams, 
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves." 

Instead of these, the observer meets with model towers and 
ruins, churches, and opera houses, and even models of Swiss 
scenery. How we longed to see the lofty originals of the latter. 

I observed in a large glass case, a magnificent representa- 
tion of Alpine scenery, wherein at a glance was combined every 
form of sublimity and terror, of loveliness and beauty. The 
proximity is singular. Upland valleys of softest verdure repose 
sweetly at the foot of the eternal glacier. Huge snowy peaks, 
ready for an avalanche, frown over delicious spots of pastoral 



62 UNDER THE CRYSTAL, 

quietude, while horrid gorges yawn with silence and desolation, 
near the flowery marge of meadows. 

Leipsic, with her books, Saxony, with her wool, and long 
courts of velvets, cloths, and satins, must lead us out into the 
nave again. Perha2:)S in the multiplicity of German infinity, 
you may notice that button trophy, with 21,300 varieties glis- 
tening like a miniature universe under the clear light. 

We are called to refreshments by the whispers of the tired 
body. That finished, can you help stopping a moment to look 
at those Indian ivory chairs, that couch of gold, that Eka, or 
one-horse chariot ? Shall we not wonder at the Sancsrit liter- 
ature in Persia — venture within that Turkish canopy of blue 
with another tent within, filled with its long hangings of silver 
laces ? 

The Mosaic of Italy, is certainly one of the most wonderful 
things in the Exhibition. Large centre-tables are thus form- 
ed, with landscapes and figures, whose perfection shames the 
pencil. The Coliseum, Romulus and Remus, the Forum, and 
other classic memories and scenes, are thus preserved in undying 
freshness of beauty. I know there is no great utility in these 
costly Mosaics ; but taking this branch of labor, at its lowest 
value, as a mere source of pleasure from the love of imitation 
or representation of agreeable objects, it nevertheless becomes 
the remembrancer of scenes of thrilling interest. It is the ele- 
gant accomplishment, by which homes are embellished. It en- 
ters into the sisterhood of arts, bound by a common bond — the 
culture of the human, through the influence of the divine, which 
ever dwelleth in the pure, the fair, and the beautiful ! 

What object is that upon the point yonder, which requires 
a glass to pei;ceive it 1 Ha ! ha ! Can it be ? A cherry-stone 
with twenty-five portraits on one side, and St. George fighting 
the dragon, sculptured on the other ! " 'Tis sure as any thing 
most true." Look for yourself ! Italy has at least the palm 
in microscopic beauty, although yon Herculean Godfrey, from 
Brussels, in the nave, bears away the guerdon for muscular 
miirht ! 



AAUJ IN THE PARK. 53 

We might fill pages thus depicting each object — which in 
itself perhaps was a study of years for the artist — but to which 
we do not give as many minutes. Passing by the statuary of 
Hero and Leander, which the mournful music from the gallery 
seems to render more sad, we enter the French tapestry room. 
There is the French trophy ! That hanging, so dazzling in 
color, so striking in design, at which the eye blenches — cost 
twenty-six men eight years' labor. That is an object for an 
industrious exhibition ! It is of course from Grobelins. 

France is not alone la belle Frayice. The finest collection 
of philosophical and surgical instruments ai-e hers. False legs 
and arms, and every aid to injured humanity is hers. Not alone 
does she excel in Lyons silks and laces, but in kitchen ranges 
and physical sciences. Like her character is her exhibition of 
industry. Confectionaries of rarest temptation sweeten near 
" drums, guns, trumpets, blunderbusses, and thunder." Steam 
engines revolve in beauty, whose polish almost emulates that of 
her dazzling mirrors ! Wigs, in profusion, are within hearing 
distance of harps, fiddles, flutes, and pianos. A very medley is 
France, a serious comedy, a laughing tragedy. 

We have done for to-day ; yet much of the Eastern enti-ance 
and galleries are not glanced at. We go away stunned, as be- 
fore, at the ?immensity of this exposition of toil. Truly the 
dwarf man, " behind his engine of steam, can remove mountains." 
What a mine of meaning is there in the remarks of Lord Bacon, 
which we have prefixed to this chapter ; yet even*'his compre- 
hension, which almost became prophecy, could not grasp such a 
stupendous illustration of their truth as is here enshrined. What 
an ingathering of the world's daily experience is here ! Even so 
feeble a sketch as this will enable the intelligent reader to form 
some idea of the wondrous world we live in. 

Again, we visit the home of industry. It is Saturday, and 
ingress cannot be had until noon, by which time a great con- 
course has collected. A rush is made, during which examples 
of English rudeness, especially toward the gentler sex, is so 



54 UNDER THE CRYSTAL, 

common, as to excite the remark and contempt of every well- 
bred stranger. 

The palace is filled at once, as if from a hundred sluices^ 
with all kinds of people. Invalids, even, in their conveyances, 
are drawn through the courts. Painters and drawers are perched 
here and there, copying the articles and scenes. Policemen are 
taking their stations. Ked coats are brushing off the dust from 
the articles. Paxton was at a loss for a cleaner to the building, 
and invented, at great expense of time and money, a huudred- 
housemaid-power-broom for the purpose. He found, after the 
first day's experience, that the long sweeping trains of the ladies 
performed the office to a nicety. 

I began to-day with France, on the southern side. Amid 
the jewelry, which shone as " from a sky," we discerned some 
clocks, fashioned curiously out of trees, in the branches of which 
chirped, fluttered, and leaped from bough to bough a choir of 
birds. There were some pecking at beetles, others in the nest, 
but all pervaded by a vivacity which, at first glance, made the 
illusion perfect. 

Here, too, we saw the rarest fruit-piece of porcelain painting 
which ever delighted the vision. The grapes and other luscious 
fruitage hung from a golden frame-work, while tulips and gar- 
lands of every flower seemed to hide an angel, of form so ethe- 
real, and with shading so softened, and light so mellowed, as to 
enthral the fancy. Tapestry overhung all. Further down, and 
into the nave, is a fine piece of statuary, representing Love sciz- 
zoring off the claws of a lion; allegorizing the French sentiment: 

Amour, Amour quand tu nous lien, 
Od peut bien dire — Adieu Prudence. 

Silver service, pictures raised, and interminable vistas of dry 
goods, we fly from, to find refuge in the arms of Belgium, which 
are spread just above the next department. Here are chimney 
pieces, with carvings exquisite. Nests of little Cupids and 
flower bas-reliefs surround us. On move we with the crowd. 



AND IN THE PARK. 55 

until the Austrian statuary room receives us. What a sweet 
piece is that nun, veiled with marble, and in very truth realizing 
Wordsworth's line, 

breathless iu adoration. 

The eflfect of a veil of marble, dimly showing the beautiful cast 
of countenance, is indeed a triumph of the chisel. 

The machinery department has been slighted, My foolish 
eye has been caught by gauds, as " larks by looking-glasses." 
Imagine a vast vista of convolving, revolving, intertwisting, gy- 
rating, perpendicularizing, horizontaliziug, and whirlygigging 
generally ; yet all playing as silently as polished steel, well 
oiled, can go, and as gracefully as the stir 

"Of a swan's neck among the bushes;" 

and you have a glance at the engine-room with its contents. 
Here on our right is a new locomotive runnning by atmosphere ; 
there is, also, an improved " feather" paddle-wheel, with two 
shafts, one within the other, the inner one a screw ; the set of 
paddles, as they rise out of the water, turning so as to find no 
resistance, and presenting their edge to the air. Miniature en- 
gines of every form, are in motion, and the machinery so bright 
as to reflect, in itself, its own motion. A steam engine with a 
moveable cylinder seemed a singular piece of adaptedness of 
means to end. Needle machines were at work, washing and dry- 
ing machines, hydraulic pumps, machines for dressing stone, (from 
Besting !) diving-bells, already in the bottom of the mock sea, 
and, last, printing-machines of many kinds, all in operation. 
The "Illustrated News" is struck off" at the rate of over 5,000 to 
the hour. From four points the paper issues. The exhibition 
is thus rapidly illustrating itself to the wide world. But to my 
unpractised eye, the looms and mules and the other machinery 
for weaving, are the most wonderful. Large laces and sjjlendid 
table-linen, costly cloths and cheap cottons, alike come forth 
from the swift-flying shuttle, amid a maze of rotation, driving 



GO UA'DEIi THE CRYSTAL, 

and springing, the machinery performing every motion and 
intricacy from which power is evolved and comforts multiplied. 
This, amid the roar of water-falls, the buzz and hum, the click 
and clatter, the throbbing, glittering and dancing of wheels, is all 
dei^endent upon steam power, which is hidden from the eye. Is 
there not here a magic beside which Aladdin was a dunce, and 
the old enchanter, Merlin, a booby? Hurrah! for the age of 
steam wonder ! Pyramids and Pantheons, Gothic buildings and 
Babylon gates, should sink into oblivion beside this steam-cen- 
tury, with its palace of Industry. 

The west end, in the gallery, to which, with the help of 
fancy, you are transported, is now filled with prisms flung 
by the colored glass between you and the setting sun. You 
have passed royal couches, with Aurora and Somnus carved and 
painted, all golden and glittering. You have passed intricate 
mazes of food, seeds, woods, and fabrics, from Scotland and other 
parts of Great Britain. You glance at the naval glory of Britain, 
represented by her innumerable models, with the Battle of Tra- 
falgar to top the group. You observe that centrifugal machine, 
illustrating the planetary motions completely. At last, relieved, 
you stand upon the threshold of — start not ! It is only the 
organ, near which -you are unconsciously standing. It strikes 
up, with four men to blow, and thi-ee to play. As I am a living 
soul, its thundering sound made the — yes, believe it, Rochester- 
knocking credulity — it made the Universe tremble ! ! I have 
told some things which unsophisticated Buckeyes rarely see, 
and can hardly imagine ; but I was not under oath then. Now 
I am. I distinctly swear that I saw Jupiter quake amid his 
satellites, Venus tremble va. her sandals, and Mars in his boots, 
Saturn shake in his ring, and the Sun itself start from his sphere, 
as the flood of sound rolled out of the organ and upon the — 
orrery ! 

While observing this phenomenon, which Herschel must 
explain, the organist struck up Yankee Doodle ! My heart beat 
hot and queer. I felt the Declaration of Independence and a 



AND IN THE PARK. g^ 

couple of Bunker Hills rising in my bosom. As such feelings 
were inconsistent with this temple, dedicated to peace, and as I 
was a delegate from Ohio to the World's Peace Convention, I 
pi'udently retired out of the British domain and seated myself 
again at the transept, to take a last look before going to the 
Continent. 

At the four corners there are crowds, looking down on 
throngs beneath, moving in and out under canopies, and into the 
courts. Opposite is a large glass chandelier, almost the coun- 
terpart of the fountain, which, with its sisters three, are making 
melody by graceful water jets amid the palm and flower groves 
below. The sight woos the thirst, and the hum almost sinks 
one in a " swound," like a murmur of bees. White as ghosts, 
the long lines of statuary guard the little apartments, with varied 
hangings suspended from their roofs. Away down on either 
hand is seen one living stream moving amid gorgeousness, and 
under glancing sunlight. 

How many hearts beat within those vital frames, the mechan- 
ism of which, comparable with nothing in this vast theatre of 
ingenuity, is hidden from the eye ! How many immortal souls 
are here intent on seeing — seeing — seeing ; forgetful of every 
thought as to the wondrous mind-mechanism which evolved all 
these wonders. " Ye fools and blind ! for whether is greater, 
the gold, or the temple which sanctifieth the gold?" The gold 
must perish, the temple and its spirit survives. 

Wrap those moving bodies in the silks of yon pagoda ; or 
bury them amid the glitter of those Indian gold cloths, but they 
will not stay. Those flowers may be renewed by the genial 
breath of spring ; those bodies, of form so radiant, must lie in 
" cold obstruction." Surround their tombs with the bronze and 
stone which line the nave ; their memory is soon erased by the 
footstep of time. Yet this undying mind is perpetual. It lives 
through its creations. Nation to nation, man to man, hands 
down the results of the vigilant life. Who can tell what 
thoughts have been here developed to bless the race ? What 



G8 UNDER THE CBYSTAL, 

ideas of beauty suggested, what cordialities cultivated to deco- 
rate this world of tears? 

Behold below, a world's representatives interlacing them- 
selves. As Shakspeare has it : 

" No man livinoj 



Can say this is my wife, there ; all are woven 
So strangely in one piece." 

Listen to the hum of speech ; look to the produce of thought. 
Hear ye not therein the shuttle of kindness flying from heart to 
heart, weaving its viewless warp and woof into one sublime fab- 
ric, many-hued as that tapestry ,^ intricate as that mechanism ; a 
fabric fit to be hung from the battlements of heaven, between 
the sins of man and the majesty of God ! 

The sun is sinking toward America. Its slanting radiance 
kisses the concave crystal. The statues in the transept fling 
long shadows down the nave. The thousand glitters of the glass 
are reflected from jewels and glass within. What if all the minds 
here represented by their results were gathered into a common 
mental palace, so transparent that the most profound thought of 
each and all could be perceived ; the astronomer sweeping the 
sky with that telescope, down to the humble African who made 
yon miserable human image ; the genius of the sculptor bodying 
forth his exquisite ideal in stainless Parian, embracing the tiny 
thoughtlet of him who mechanically turns a machine which 
thinks for him ; could we not then approximate toward the idea 
of an Omniscient Reason, in the largest sense of that term ? Yet 
these — all these — are the varied product of His hand, modified 
through the contaminated reason of man ! 

With such reflections half saddening the spirit, and with a 
curiosity to see the delightful environment of Hyde Park which 
surrounds the palace, I am led to the open air, to be freshened 
into new life by the side of a river of beautj' — the Serpentine, 
set in emerald. A massive stone bridge arches it, over wliich 
are passing crowds from the exhibition, horsemen practising in 



AJ^'D IN THE PARK. 



69 



the park, and coaches drawn by blooded horses. Soldiers and 
policemen are around here, as they are everywhere in London. 
Before us spreads the stream, with its water-fowl, ducks and 
swans. Sharp-pointed boats dart from under the bridge, and 
skim away as gracefully as the water-fowl themselves. A few 
sail Ijoats shoot in and out, as if playing amid the splendid elms 
which line the stream, and which in clumps all through this park 
throw their shadows deep and inviting. Walks are distributed 
about iu negligent precision. Boys with water spaniels and 
mimic ships are laughing away merry May hours in their pas- 
times. But these elms, how perfect each one appears ! It is 
remarkable to one used to seeing nature in her unpruned, care- 
less dress, how much like leafy architecture a noble tree may be 
made. 

A perfect study for the Painter is each old elm, its long 
branches intertwisted neatly and gracefully; its shadows and 
lights conspicuous as those in a Grothic Minster ; bending over 
to its sustaining mother, the earth, with a freight of foliage, and 
bestowing upon her verdurous bosom a rich gift of shade. 

Far off, before me, yet clear as if in reach, stands the Duke 
Wellington in bronze, upon his lofty steed against the blue sky. 
Here come some of his class — a troop of soldiers in hats nearly 
as big as themselves. The lofty towers of Apsley House, the 
Duke's residence, are about his monument. Let the eye skim 
around to the right, until it meets between the trees the glit- 
tering palace, full of its throbbing life and myriad illustrations 
of life-results. At least tenscore of flags — white, blue, red and 
variegated, waver to the mild wind ; while the transept at both 
ends is surmounted proudly with England's ensign 100 feet 
above the concave ! The colors of the iron work are but dimly 
seen from here, yet most gratefully do they task the eye. The 
Park is speckled for miles with gayly-dressed women and sol- 
diers. — Sheep, too, lazily lie about the lawns. Just behind yon 
trees, shut in by a gate guarded by soldiers, are at least count, 
500 carriages and their liveried attendants, awaiting the pleasure 



70 UNDER THE CRYSTAL. 

of their masters and mistrei5ses. — " Thank God," I mentally 
ejaculated, ''I am no man's man." Could we not put these 
tight-legged, gold-tipped, hat-laced, powder-headed, bow-scraping, 
velvet-pawed footmen and drivers to a better account in Ohio? 
Make men out of them, albeit apparent manikins now % They 
do not know any better. If they could oxAyfccl what it is to have 
a free heart beating beneath the meanest vesture — but Pshaw! 
Velvet Paw must needs be Velvet Paw ; else England's aris- 
tocracy would have to wait on itself, a degradation which would 
knock the underpinning out of one branch of the Constitution, 
and perhaps out of another. Look from the ignoble growth of 
men, to the noble growth of those old knotty, shaggy, twisted, 
Elms — Centuries of storms they have stood. They have been 
like true men, gnarled into greatness ! 

But we must be going homeward. Having bid farewell 
to this glorious Park, those graceful swans, whom I have just 
called to the bank and fed ; to the Crystal Palace, in which 
a whole education has been mine, I strike for Victoria gate, 
thence through Sussex to Hampstead road. The scenes, how- 
ever, in this English Park must remain written licre forever. 
Our only drawback is that no more of our friends are along, 
to see the same beauties and enjoy the same delights which we 
have, in this Park. Would that my descriptions could convey 
one tenth of the satisfaction to my readers which I have felt 
within its bound. 



VII. 

iltrstininstrr nnii Umn. 



■ " Traveller ! 



Eemember these our famous countrymen, 
And quell all angry and injurious thoughts." 

Southey. 

THERE are two spots to be visited before leaving England, 
that deserve especial mention. They have often been de- 
scribed ; but every traveller observes them under peculiar cir- 
cumstances. Westminster Abbey and Dover Heights — classic 
in association ; do they not thrill to the inmost heart ? 

On Sabbath we went to Church in Westminster. It was a 
rare moment when we passed beneath that crumbling arch, 
and entered that venerable pile. Black and streaked with age; 
with the tracery and sculpture corroded by time ; the very 
image of venerableness and awe, Westminster Abbey stands 
confessedly before the eye, the selectest spot of interest upon 
English ground. We stood in the midst of the consecrated 
fabric, — aisle opening within aisle, niches around, and the sculp- 
tured forms erected near the tombs of the buried great, lifelike, 
standing and reposing about us, and all richly painted with a 
dim and mellow lustre from the lofty circular window before us. 
The Abbey within is in the shape of a cross. From one branch 
came the organ tones and the singing, responsive to the service 
at the opposite end. All around were seen the trophies and 
arms, the scrolls and images, with their Hebrew, Latin, and 
English inscriptions. 

We were compelled to stand during service. However much 
I wanted to hear a specimen of English preaching, yet I could 



72 WESTMINSTER AND DOVER. 

not tear my eyes from the inscriptions around. We stood near 
the poets' corner. I turned about, and the first name I saw was 
GrARRicK. There he stood, the English Roscius — parting the 
marble tapestry, revealing the bust of Shakspeare ; while below 
him are female figures, one of Comedy, fitting on the sock ; the 
other of Tragedy, with dishevelled hair. It was a fine piece of 
sculpture ; but it could not detain the eye long. Next I saw 
the name of Camden ; then Sir Geoffrey Kneller ; then the 
monument of Major Andre ; then that erected by Massachu- 
setts Colony to General Howe. From my position, I could not 
see much of the poets' corner, although standing near. But whose 
monuments are those, heavy with dust, their images in repose, 
apart from the ordinary tombs of knights and abbots 1 These 
are the royal line of England. 

Service over, which was performed by a large, hearty minis- 
ter, who apparently enjoyed a fat living, and who preached about 
making self-sacrifices and cross-bearing — we leave. We are 
permitted to pass out along the damp, cold tombs, beneath and 
around us. Here lie abbots buried in the tenth and eleventh 
centuries. The statue of Charles James Fox reposing, with 
certain forms about him, is conspicuous. These forms are in- 
tended to be emblematic of his services in the cause of negro 
emancipation. They represent negroes, with all the apjmrte- 
nances of curly hair, flat nose, large lips and low brows ; but 
they are in tchitc marble ! They kneel at the feet of Fox, rais- 
ing the whites of their eyes (done to the life) in thankfulness to 
their benefactor. The taste, thus developed, is questionable. 
Indeed, it almost confirmed an idea long pondered, that the 
province of the chisel lies exclusively in the Ideal realm. The 
pure forms of the stainless marble seem to require a spirituality, 
such as speaks from the lip, and in the mien of the Apollo 
Belvidere, or such as dwells in the gentle melancholy of the 
Greek Slave. 

The panting heart left the immense repertory of the glorious 
dead, thrilled to its minutest fibre. The long corridors open 




POETS' CORNER AT WESTMINSTER. 



WESTMINSTER AND DOVER. 73 

before the eye, displaying monuments that defy the tooth of 
Time, but in vain. Every where you see its crumbling, corrod- 
ing power. The very birds, as if in mockery of man, have built 
nests in the streaked and dark walls, and sing amid decay. 

When we return to England, Westminster shall be again 
visited and fully described. Our route is now directly for Paris, 
by way of Dover. Let the traveller remember to arrange his 
time of leaving London, so as to come down to Dover by day, 
and remain some hours before the boat departs for Calais, if he 
would fix in everlasting freshness the incidents of " Lear," of 
which the white, tall cliffs of Dover formed so prominent a part 
of the tempestuous scene. 

Before we were ready for it, our cars dashed into the bowels 
of Shakspeare's Cliff, and, after rumbling awhile, darted out 
again into the sweet May-shine. Behold ! the sea speckled with 
vessels, and the dim whiteness of the French coast in the dis- 
tance. Again we turn ; and now that we are shut out from that 
fine view, let us look upward. There indeed is the glory of 
Kent, the place where good old Gloster is alleged to have stood. 
Although we cannot stop our swift rushing car to say, " Here's 
the place, stand still ! " yet we can truly realize Shakspeare's 
description of the fearful, dizzy height ; so high that the crows 
showed scarce so gross as beetles, and the sapphire-gatherer 
seemed no bigger than his head. We saw persons on the cliff's 
fearful edge (how fearful to poor, blind Gloster !) whose Lillipu- 
tian size brought back the poet's description most vividly. 

Under the direction of our host of the " Gun," we travers- 
ed the ground where poor Tom was " a-cold," and where Cor- 
delia redeemed the woman-nature of the olden British time. 

Dover lies under the frown of the blanched cliffs in a semi- 
circular form : her bay surrounded with boats, and the beach lined 
with bathing wagons. The town is not large, but looks neat. 
Long paved walks, made of a composition of coal, tar and sand, 
(quite an idea !) are in front of the beach, along which seats 
are ranged. The shore is yet faithful to the description of 
4 



74 WESTMINSTEB AND DOVER. 

Shakspeare ; for I wandered along it, to verify that the " mur- 
muring surge on the unnumbered idle pebbles beats." And as 
the surge rolls up its tribute of water and thunder, and recedes, 
the tiny multitudinous pebbles rattle away most distinctly and 
musically. It could not " be heard so high " as old Gloster 
stood. 

We went upon the cliff, between Dover Castle and Shak- 
speare's cliff, by a tunnel and stairway. There are three stair- 
ways leading up to the fort on this hill, which could empty a 
goodly number of men in case of invasion. Indeed, Dover 
is perfectly prepared for that event. The Castle is the highest 
point, and within the bosom of that cliff, are trap-doors, stair- 
ways, and divers other arrangements to decoy an enemy in, then 
topple it over, or stifle it with poison. The face of this cliff 
looks like a great prison ; its huge towers rising in the upper 
air, and its iron-bound windows in harsh contrast with the white 
beauty of the surface, which white beauty, is not unadorned 
with yellow and white flowers, as well as with green foli- 
age. Little houses hang upon its sides like nests ; and talk- 
ing of nests reminds me of the birds. If there were no other 
feature in the scenery of England than these feathered carollers, 
it would entitle her to the appellation of "merry England." 
Where do they not sing ? In the green lanes towards Epsom, 
in the depots of the Liverpool railway, in old Cathedral towers, 
in the Crystal Palace ; all 

" O'er royal London, in luxui-iant May, 
With lamps yet twinkling," 

they sing their matin ; and here at our departing point, high 
aloof upon the Castle cliff, ring their merry twitterings, without 
the fear of big fort-cannon and gruff soldiers before their eyes. 
The top of the cliff is a green plot finely laid out ; but the 
fortifications lie higher. We ascended only to meet the chal- 
lenge of a soldier to " stand" which we laughingly did. " You 
must obtain a pass." " But, my good sir, we are strangers." 



WESTMINSTER AND DOVER. 75 

^'^ Must obey orders, sir. ''^ "Is your gun loaded?" '^ No, sir.''^ 
" Then I think we may say what we please and scale the ram- 
parts." He turned out to be a good-natured fellow, and obeyed 
orders like a machine, as all good soldiers are. We therefore 
lost the best view. After gazing off towards the home of 
Fenelon, Rousseau and Chauteaubriand, and trying to conjure 
up Shakspeare amidst the old cliffs, albeit inhabited by unpo- 
etical locomotives, we departed. 

Dover is a point, in travel, to hang many a wild wonder 
upon. But, most, it is the point upon which hinges the great- 
est tragedy of the greatest Dramatist. Here the foulest in- 
grates that ever fleshed their teeth in the heart of paternal 
kindness, received an embodiment ; and here, Cordelia, the 
brightest spirit that ever shone in upon the dark depths of 
Despair, received a local habitation and a name. Thank Eng- 
land's muse for linking such lessons with such localities ! 

You may be sure, that the enjoyment of travelling has 
begun, when we can take to our feet, and ramble amidst these 
grassy mounds covered with May flowers, and look out into the 
straits, and even catch in the sun's glancing, the white coast of 
France ; when we can feel the fresh air blowing high and aloof 
from the city's dust and smoke ; when we can find in the local- 
ities around, something which speaks of literary association 
and the olden time. 

The ride down was of a piece with all of the other travel- 
ling into the English country — a rural prospect of rare beauty 
from Surrey to Dover. Tunbridge furnished a fine old ivied 
tower. Another loomed up near Dover — strange old mile- 
stones down the road of time. 

The hour is rung, and our little boat made " the flre fly" in 
phosphorescent sparkles out of the straits. From certain recol- 
lections of salt water, I kept very mouse-like, until our vessel 
was moored between the long line of piles at Calais. 



VIII. 

" Rattle her chains 
More musically now than when the hand 
Of Brissot forged her fetters, or the crew 
Of Herbert thundered out their blasphemies, 
Or Danton talked of virtue ? "' 

Coleridge. 

IT was a moonlit midnight of the latter part of May, that 
found us landing at the pile-driven harbor of Calais. We 
walked into the Custom House of France, between cloaked and 
curly grey-whiskered and mustachioed old soldiers, and amidst 
cries from baggage-men, of " prenez garde. Monsieur !" Well, 
the officer having examined my passports, and hastily inquired 
after my family (very kind of him), most of whom (to wit, my 
wife) were named in the passport, he signified, by some outland- 
ish gibberish, that I was free to roam in the new Republic. 

We took the cars instanter. As soon as it became light, we 
found ourselves in foreign parts indeed. The houses looked 
small and old ; the ground was divided into little patches, and 
there was wanting the neat air of English rural life. There 
were few hedges. The " lay " of the country resembled our 
prairies very much. The fruit trees were in bloom. The dress 
of the peasants was generally blue short coats. They looked 
quite picturesque in the early dawn. We observed many large 
peat beds, and quantities of that essential to caloric piled about. 
Wood seems to be a scarce article. The tall, straight. Lombardy 
poplars begin to appear thick and fast. And now we see sol- 
diers, and priests, too. Next, windmills not a few. All these 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 77 

impressed us strangely. The houses, with their earthenware 
roofs and old walls, had an antique look, and these, with the 
jabber of talk among the French, told us that we were j^ilgrims 
indeed. 

Not so wheii we reached Paris. Not having our tongue in 
as yet, to the little French we knew so imperfectly, we were com- 
pelled to address ourselves to the railroad agents, who spoke 
English. There we first began to realize the fact.^ and not the 
form only, of French courtesy. As soon as we let the officers 
know that we were Republicans from America, and not English, 
how they hopped about to show us our baggage, and even accom- 
panied us to our hotel. Let American travellers in France not 
forget, to dispossess the minds of those who have charge of them 
or theirs, of the idea that they are British. You ought to see 
a Paris cabman take off a gruff John Bull, with his churlish 
crossness, and his shrug of discontent. 

Not expecting to remain in Paris longer than was necessary 
to prepare our passports for Italy, we took but small and imper- 
fect glimpses of the capital. But such as we took rewarded us 
well. How proud the French are of their capital ! and they 
have reason to be. Not of their long and dirty streets, with lit- 
tle or no pavements, of which a great part of the city consists ; 
but of their Boulevards, the Luxembourg, the Champs Elysees, 
the gardens of the Tuileries, and other spots which we visited. 

We needed no guide. Our company being inside, I mount- 
ed the cab, and with a modicum of bad French began the duty 
of guide and interpreter, as well as of learner and teacher. — 
The shrewd cabman could readily understand me. He drove us 
to the famous Arch of Triumph, from which we took a view of 
the city. The arch itself is worth a visit to Paris. It is erect- 
ed to honor Napoleon, his soldiers, and his victories. It is re- 
plete with carving, representing every variety of j^rowess by 
arms, and every mode of its consequent glory. From such a 
point I could not dwell upon detail. 

Buy a medal, or give the old lady at the entrance a gratui- 



78 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

tous franc, and you may ascend the Arcli. What a glorious pros- 
pect is here on every side ! You will, with the aid of Gallig- 
nani's map, or with the aid of some Parisian, perceive the prin- 
cipal points of interest in the throbbing life of gayety and glory 
below. In front are the Champs Elysees, with their fine walks, 
seats and shades ; and throughout, are scatterecT stalls, booths, 
and circuses, together with thousands of human beings. Indeed 
it is no uncommon thing, of Sundays, to see at least two hun- 
dred thousand assembled in these retreats. That place of foun- 
tains before us, is the Place de la Concorde. You will rcognize 
one of the fountains as the original of one in the French depart- 
ment of the Great Exhibition. Still in front are the gardens of the 
Tuileries the Place du Carousal, with its fine arch, and the Louvre. 

But we have not time even here for particulars. Let us walk 
about the arch, to find how Paris looks generally, with its roads 
leading back to Versailles and St. Germaine, its chateaux and 
its forts. 

Then again for the cab and a minute inspection of the Lux- 
embourg. There we confess that even Hyde Park is beaten. 
Its long rows of statues, its elegant flower-plots, its terraces, 
its splendid fountains, its urns, its delicious umbrageousness, its 
glorious palace, and above all, its thrilling associations with the 
great names of France, render it. thus far, the prominent object 
in our travels. 

But what shall we say of Notre Dame, whose superb archi- 
tecture calls for the best and loftiest sweep of the vision ? We 
drive round to wonder at the work of man in rearing such a pile, 
and at the work of Time in touching its stone with decay. We 
enter. Hushed is the air ! " Peace, be still !" the spirit of the 
place seemeth to say. One or two figures are in prayer at the 
other end of the Cathedral ; all else seems a Spiritual Pre- 
sence ! How high, how deep — deej)^ is the air above ! Move 
slowly and solemnly along, and gaze upon the master works of 
sacred painting to your right and left, until you stand before 
the altar ! Then look upward. What a Tabernacle, Great 
God! is this for Thee? 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 79 

In such a temple, the Almighty, if ever shrined visibly, 
would appear ! What mellow splendors from the many-colored 
windows meet each other midway under the dome, and shower 
their united flood of rainbows on the scene below ! Here is a place 
where His Presence may be felt, even to the renewing of life, 
to the brightening of heavenly Hope, and to the antedating of 
celestial felicity. Would that we could here linger, until the 
sacred atmosphere of the temple should purify our souls, and 
create a new and holier essence for the cycles of eternity ! 

We almost forget that human greatness, " only not divine," 
was here enthroned, amid the pomp and circumstance of power, 
in the person of Napoleon. What songs, what breathings from 
yon old organ, what display of insignia and ceremonial obser- 
vances, what an array of military valor and pride, what crowds 
of expectant spectators then made Notre Dame the shrine of 
earthly ambition in its proudest worship ! 

But we pass to another scene, where an ambition and a 
greatness of another mould is celebrated. Not in loud murmurs. 
Oh ! no — the tombs beneath the Pantheon weep eternal silent 
moisture over the remains of the truly great of France. " La 
Patrie," hath remembered them by a most fitting, a most tear- 
compelling, a most magnificent tribute. 

Thus has France, while erecting her memorials to victory all 
over her capital, not forgotten the immortalization of Thought, 
which endlessly wings its way down to tlie latest generations, 
through the works of her scholars and literary men ! No one can 
fail to observe, even without visiting France, the intense feeling 
constantly flowing out in honor of her great men. Persons, rather 
than principles are reverenced. Immortalization of renowned 
names has superseded the immortality of the soul. The latter 
is almost an obsolete, if it ever were a prevalent idea. All 
classes of the community unite in homage to, the hero. The 
very churches are built to honor humanity, not Divinity. The 
names of the citizens who fell in July 1830, are engraved upon 
splendid shafts ; but the principles which prompted the revolu- 



80 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

tion and wliicli lie at the root of all popular sovereignity, were 
as evanescent as last Sunday's gala. Dynasties may be over- 
turned, barricade-war be declared biennially, the vivas of the 
people changed weekly ; yet the great citizens of France will 
ever receive apotheosis. The seven millions who have in 
December 1851, sustained the coup d'etat of a Bonaparte, have 
been mostly moved by the name upon the bulletin. 

However fickle the populace of this city may be, it is cer- 
tain, that for all the revolutions of France, her Pantheon, to the 
truly great, will remain as everlasting as their fame. " Art," 
it has been well said, " is dependent on the tone of the public 
mind, as the more delicate plants on atmosphere and weather." 
It needs a general enthusiasm for beauty and sublimity, like 
that in the time of the Medici, to call forth a host of great spi- 
rits. No less it needs the same enthusiasm to erect monu- 
ments to their memory. France has had her era of enthusiasm. 
Indeed, it is an element which never subsides in her bosom. 
We may well rely upon it to protect the monuments it has 
reared. 

Tired, but not sated with Parisian spectacles, we wended our 
way to the hotel, there to experience a new mode of life, wherein 
the cafe is united to the lodging-place, where the garcon plays 
the part of the English John, and the fat fellow with a white 
sugar-loaf cap, presides over cutlets and omelettes, the very 
Zeus of Olympian cookery. You know French cookery is as 
world-famous as Yankee notions. Did you ever hear it account- 
de for % You did not ? Here it is, from Savarin himself 
" When the Britons, Germans, Cimmerians, and Scythians broke 
into France, they brought with them a large voracity, and sto- 
machs of no ordinary calibre. Hence Paris became an immense 
refectory." Is not that a perfect sequitur ? At any rate, we 
blessed those hungry heathen, and felt one more of the glories 
of the French capital, with an intensity, quickened by exercise 
and seasoned by novelty. 

Every body has heard of a French diligence. To my ima- 



FJtANCE.—AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. §1 

gination, it always had a piratical cast of countenance. It 
swelled up in my fancy as a huge, lumbering, lazy, wallowing, un- 
wieldy, rickety vehicle, rei^uiring as many guards as passengers. 
Either this impression was erroneous, or else vehicles have im- 
proved rapidly in France. Look at that huge mass in three 
parts, with a loading that would do honor to a regiment of don- 
keys, or a patient road-wagon in Pennsylvania. It does at first 
sight look gloomy enough, j'et in every thing it seems comfort- 
able. Start off; and away we rattle, amid the hallooing of 
boys, the gaze of women, with the crack of the whip, (how the 
French do eternally snap their whips !) and the merry blast of 
the horn. 

Dr. Johnson thought that one of the greatest exhilarations of 
life, was a start of a pleasant morning upon an English coach. 
He might have enlarged the remark so as to comprehend his 
French neighbors. Rattle-rattle — amidst the narrow lanes of 
the merry Parisians — down one rue, up another, past this col- 
umn, near that image — and at last we find the open air and a 
splendid railway station. Soon our diligence is hoisted upon 
the cars — an odd-looking genius of steam ; and without change, 
we are dashing by gardens with stone circular wells, surrounded 
by flowers, and little tracts of land cut up into smaller ones, all 
smiling with cultivation. 

Let me remark that the land here is owned or leased in little 
tractlets ; which are subdivided into as many plots as will raise 
wheat, barley, rye, oats, grass, and vetches (a red flowering grass 
for horses, similar to our clover). The}!- also sow tares, to cut 
them up while green, for cattle. Their stock is all confined, so 
that even fences are dispensed with. Prominent among the 
divisions of the tractlets are the twisted grape vines, trimmed 
closely, and just now tufted with verdure. The hills are staked 
plentifully for their aid. Flax, mustard, and turnips, some of 
them in flower, are also distributed. The price of ordinary 
peasant labor, as I learned from our conductor, is only about 
one franc at best (19 cents) per day; and when the laborers 
4* 



82 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

broad themselves, upwards of five francs ; so that you may see 
that provisions are as high as wages are low. 

To any one used to the big, fenced fields of the West, these 
little divisions of a tenth or twentieth of an acre, which appear 
even to the summits of the highest hills, in oblong form, and 
many-colored, present a strange appearance, and remind one of 
the patchwork quilts made from calicoes or silks. 

As we rattle through the beautiful valley of the Seine, va- 
riety adds to the natural loveliness of the landscapes. Wind- 
mills fan the air, and tall Lombardy poplars, with their tops 
plumed like soldiers, stand in battalions, almost as plentifully 
as the soldiers themselves. 

From the first moment we touched France, at every point, 
we have seen men in glazed caps, with their handles turned up, 
indicating as a Western boy would express it, " Corn for sale ;" 
with violent red pants and long surtouts ; profuse hair, over a 
pinched, ochre countenance, with sensual, petty-larceny looking 
eyes, and with little swords dangling to their sides, or muskets 
on their shoulders. This is a republic too. God save the mark ! 
Why even in the walled city of Avignon, with its forty thousand 
inhabitants, there are eight thousand soldiers — one-fifth of the 
population. At Paris every turn shows a soldier. " Liberte, 
Egalite et Fraternite," is inscribed upon all the monuments and 
public property. The commentary is near by in the shape of a 
bayonet. The Hotels of Ministers, and the Chamber of Depu- 
ties, as well as hospitals and barracks, liave a parading mus- 
keteer before their doors. The gardens and walks are thronged 
with military locusts. Why this spectacle, so strange to a 
transatlantic republican ? It is because France fears herself ; 
because a strong government is needed to suppress internal re- 
volt, because a large class of her population must be vagabond, 
and society is relieved by putting them under military subjec- 
tion ; and lastly, because Louis Napoleon would perpetuate his 
power, and France must be ready for intervention in Italy, or in 
other nations on the continent. Already great preparations are 



FJRANCE.—AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 83 

being made to send troops to Rome. Large numbers are leaving 
Paris daily for that city, to sujjpress an expected revolt. They 
will be needed at home, soon, no doubt. France has had a 
taste of republicanism. She cannot remain as she is, so long as 
her present laws remain. Since the law requiring three years' 
residence for the voter, disfranchised three millions of her 
people ; since the law in harsh restraint of the press, requiring 
editors to sign their articles, and holding them responsible for 
every criticism upon the government ; and with 346.000 sol- 
diers, and 87,000 horses feeding at the public crib, how can she 
be stable or free 1 The alteration of the Constitution, by which 
Louis Napoleon may be made Emperor, or (so called) President 
for life, is the prominent political question. We hear it dis- 
cussed on boats and in cars.* 

But Ave are ahead of our journey. The Lombardy poplars 
were our theme. These seem to be the only wood here. They 
are raised for the lumber. We saw persons with hand-saws at 
work in this age of steam, and within fifty miles of Paris, 
making boards out of them. The limbs are stripped, and out 
of the bushes ai-e made faggots, which are tied in bundles, and 
used for firewood. 

The women do the greatest part of the field labor. Our ob- 
servation of them may be summed up thus : the young are viva- 
ciously pretty, and the old are horribly ugly ; but both are 
extremely polite and unexclusive in their communication. But 
one should be chary of criticism upon the women of France, 
among whom are numbered Joan of Arc, Madame de Stiiel, and 
the little wife of the great Conde, who was fighting her hus- 
band's battles while he watered pinks in prison. 

One featvire of the landscape we should not omit. It is the 
donkey, almost hid though he be, under the weight of harness. 
Along he trudges, jingling his bell, and his little feet in strange 

* The reader will remember that these pages were written in France, 
before the coup d'etat. Political prognostics for a country, like France, is 
at best but wild guessing. 



84 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

contrast with the lieav}' burden he bears. He called for more 
sympathy than any other part of the population. Coleridge 
must have travelled here when he wrote his plaintive ode to that 
languid animal, and " meek child of misery." I can well under- 
stand how the poet's sensitive soul trickled with pity as he con- 
templated the young foal's prophetic fate, under the thousand 
aches which patient merit from the unworthy takes ; but if I 
should live until the star of empire should set. I could never 
understand how a poet even, as Coleridge did, could find in the 
harsh, dissonant, prolonged, agonizing, choking, desperate bray 
of the donkey, a spirit and a tone more musically sweet than 
warbled melodies that soothe the aching heart to rest ! But 
there is a second sight, I suppose, allowed to the poet, which 
the 2Jrofami7n vidgus must not seek to attain. 

Alternating between diligence, cars and steamboat,- we 
pursue our way. We left the cars at Tonnere, not far from 
which city is a queer old ruined castle, one of the finest of the 
middle ages ; passing Dijon, we reached Chalons, where we 
took a long, narrow, low steamer, about as wide as one of our 
canal boats, and twice as long. The Saone is a clear stream, 
perhaps one hundred yards wide, and walled almost all along. 
Its banks are green and low. The country, unlike other parts 
of France, seems to be improving. The towns through which 
we passed before we took the boat, are of stone, and rapidly 
dilapidating. The streets are all well paved, however, and the 
accommodations good. 

It would have made you laugh to have peeped in upon us 
while at supper in an old half-castle, half-stable, of an auberge, 
in one of the towns before we reached Dijon. About twenty 
French men and women, all jolly, sat around us Buckeyes. 
Away they gibbered, and directly we became acquainted. Dif- 
ferent persons, who knew as little English as we did French, 
undertook to speak for us ; and while the wine went round, and 
the dishes were passed, laughing and joyance followed. Such a 
glee we never saw ; we knew they were not laughing at us, for 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 85 

the French never do this. Every attempt at French was tr^s 
Men. Every successful attempt at bad English by the French, 
we received with '•'•bon.^ bon.''^ They acknowledged we spoke 
better French than they English, and with mutual gratulations 
to the two great republics, we again resumed our way. That 
scene can never be pictured. If you would illumine Babel with 
a few gleams of siinshine. and set out in it a creaking board of 
supper, you might allegorize it somewhat. We knew just enough 
of French to make the perplexity efficiently comical for a good 
farce. The stamp of an awkward man upon a gouty toe is not 
half so comically embarrassing. The perfect understanding we 
all had, when it came to the language of spoon, knife and fork, 
heightened the scene. The French gesture, not alone with 
fingers, hands and arms, but on this festal occasion eye- 
brows, eye, nose, mouth, whiskers, and head entire, were called 
into use to give significance to the tongue. I do not wonder the 
French boast of the first comic writer, Moliere. 

What fine bridges span the Saone ! They are very low ; 
but a tinkle of the bell lowers the pipe of the steamer, by hand, 
and we dart between the piers, when it is raised by steam. The 
freshly-ploughed hills on the right swell up, and smile to the 
very clouds with the evidences of industry. How they will bleed 
with the wine in October ! 

We soon arrived at Macon, near which Lamartine was born, 
and the scene of much of his " Confidences." The pensive 
beauty of the surrounding scenery might well develop so melan- 
choly and tender a Muse as his. Half in shadow, and half in 
sunlight, hung the long line of hills, sentinelled here and there 
with the poplars, and all overarched by a soft, clear, blue firma- 
ment. Well might they infuse into his soul that intense feeling 
of the lovely and ecstatic, which distinguishes Lamartine. 

Soon we leave the stone quays of the wine-trading town of 
Macon, where we were met by a host of women, with baskets of 
edibles on long poles, who poked them under our noses from the 
banks. A few hours more, and our boat is approaching the silk 



86 FBANCE.—AN ENTBY AND AN EXIT. 

and velvet metropolis. You may know Lyons by the splendid 
pallisades, upon which frown rare old legendary towers, round 
and grim ; the rocks surmounted with elegant residences ; ter- 
races of green and flowers beautifying the gray and dark rocks ; 
statues adorning arches and gateways, and every where the con- 
test of haggard, petrified Nature, embracing, but subdued by 
the gentle influences of leafy groves and artistic monuments. 
The isle Barbe here was once a favorite residence of Charle- 
magne, and is even yet a spot of rare beauty in the Saone. 

Below in the river we pass a fleet of river craft, laden with 
hay and straw. Bell ringing, military music and noise, usher 
us into our pier. Lyons is throned among hills, and looks im- 
posing. 

It is hard, after looking upon and describing such spectacles 
as the Luxembourg, the Pantheon, Notre Dame, and other places 
in Paris, to find adequate admiration in language for other less 
attractive scenes. There is a" joyful amazement" that entrances 
the traveller, which is not dependent merely upon relative 
beauty, but which belongs to the sjnrit. As he passes from no- 
vel enchantment to even a less enchanting attraction, that amaze- 
ment increases in intensity and refinement The eye becomes 
able to see all beauty, the ear to hear inexhaustible harmony, 
and " the senses to drink in the balmy and bracing air." 

Just as the evening of Thursday was dying away, our dili- 
gence abruptly turned from its direction down the Saone, into a 
valley of exquisite beauty, wliich yet lingers about my mind as 
a dream of heaven. I thought at first it must be the far-famed 
valley of Vaucluse, opening to us its world of witchery. But 
no ; as we learned very soon, it was near Vienne, the ancient 
capital of the Allobroges, — a ville between Lyons and Avignon. 

Let us look around. Upland slopes rise one above the other, 
high as the eye can see without pain, and cultivated to the very 
summits with the vine. An infinity of stakes set for the vine 
multiply before the eye ; while terraces relieve the rocks of their 
barren appearance. Skirting our road are huge rocks upon 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 3^ 

which cling yellow, purple and red flowers. Wild roses hang 
over their edges, and form natural tapestry. The meadows be- 
low, are spangled with unromantic poppies ; but they look beautiful 
in their wild, bright-red dress. A stream of water flows far be- 
low the meadows, making the air musical with its falls. Groves 
of the Lombardy stand unconcerned about the hills; while as 
we advance, mulberry-trees, upon which boys are gathering 
leaves, goats feeding upon the side-hills, and the little earthen- 
ware roofs of the vine-dressers, appear. 

Now a factory for silk gives the idea of utility to the view, 
and we meet crowds of pretty girls in caps, and with flowers, pass- 
ing and repassing, as well as boys with their fishing-poles, 
returning home to Vienne. Far over beyond all this realm of 
beauty, is a huge range of rocks, in which are carved houses. 
Now splendid chateavis, with vineyards and flower-gardens, leap 
as if by magic, from behind hills, in the very bosom of the val- 
ley. Soon we pass stone fountains, and all at once the " arrowy 
Rhone" bursts upon the view, red and golden in the sunlight. 
What strange old pillar is that we saw in one of the meadows of 
the valley — towering up seventy or eighty feet ? It cannot be 
French, for it is too old. I learned that my surmise was cor- 
rect, that it was a Roman monument. Somehow or other the 
French make their roads, so as to run near any monument 
of beauty or of antiquity. In America, we scarcely deviate 
from a graveyard for a railroad. As the sun went down, it 
glanced through cloud-bars with a brilliancy that sparkled in the 
glistening air. Surely we must be approaching a sunnier clime, 
where Beauty reposes in the lap of a lovelier nature. 

Scarcely had we reached Vienne, before the sound of music 
and the appearance of a dance, down the street, about a half 
square from the diligence- ofiice, riveted the ear and eye. Young 
men and maidens were moving " right and left," crossing over 
and all around, — embodiments of happy hilarity. But where 
we stopped, there was found a contrast to this gay scene. A 
crowd of beggars, consisting of cripples of all twists, shapes, 



88 FEANCK—AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

some circular, one-legged, armles.s, and otherwise deformed, 
crowded around us. A regular fight ensued, as to who should 
obtain precedence to the diligence. What a commentary ! 
It completely unveiled Charles Lamb's humorous sophistry 
in his plea for beggars, wherein he demonstrates the unenvied 
contentment of the beggar's lot, above all strifes, suits, fashions, 
chances, bankruptcies and ills which fortunate flesh is heir to — 
the only absolute monarchs and independent citizens ! In 
France, even beggary fights for its caste, as well as whines for 
its sous. Yet there was bread (large circular rolls or loaves, 
about three feet round, in the French style) hanging within reach, 
at a baker's shop. 

The silk-worm and the grape-cluster — how simple in them- 
selves; yet how many millions in France depend upon them for 
life. How strange, too, it was, to see those beggars in that beau- 
tiful valley, where one might imagine the fruition of Milton's idea 
of a perpetual feast of nectared sweets. After having gathered 
flowers by the hili-side, as souvenirs of this enchanted spot, we 
courted the influence of the poppy, which by a curious lucus a 
non lucendo seems to be the most plentiful flower in this 
unslecpjnl land. 

The next morning, our conductor gave me a seat by his side, 
and with my little French, which is daily improving of neces- 
sity, I learned every thing of interest in yesterday's ride. What 
strange appearance is that in the east, away off" among and 
above the dim hills? Can it be solid earth, with clouds below 
it ? " Alp montaigne^'' says our conductor. A long range of 
the Alps followed us during our ride, at times white-topped with 
snow. Sooia we entered upon the valley of Vaucluse, so famous 
in the songs of the Troubadour ; so famous as the locality of 
the tombs and fountains of Petrarch and Laura ; so famous 
for its beautiful heaven and unrivalled scenery ; and so famous 
for its Roman ruins. But, above all, to my mind, it was the 
home of Petrarch. The Abbe de Lille touches the right 
strain when he sings. 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. gg 

" Ces eaiix, ce beau ciel, ce vallon enclmnteux- 
Moius que Petrarque et Laxira interressoient mon cceur. 
La voila done, desors-je, oui, voila cette rive 
Que Petrarque que charmoit de sa ]yre plaiutive." 

We passed crosses at the road-side, hung with chaplets, pea- 
sants driving homeward the early harvesting of hay, and auberges 
with their signs of holly over their hospitable doors. Soon the 
old I'uins begin to appeal". I called all my poor French into 
requisition. How it brings one out, this curiosity. The most 
prominent ruin was called the Chateau de Mont Dragon. It 
was a high, long palisade, built by Nature for a stronghold. 
The walls ran up in solid masses 175 or 200 feet high, and upon 
these the old Roman caution had built towers against the AUo- 
broges. All around the hills were the ruins of the Roman. Here 
the eagles of Cajsar and Marius played with the wind. 

After having passed the Chateau de Mont Dragon, which is 
in Vaucluse, we glided between tiled houses and willows, which 
line the road-side, until Orange gleamed in the sun. Here is a 
grand amphitheatre of the Romans; and the relict ruins of the 
Princes of Orange, above it upon the hill. As we passed very 
near, we had a good opportunity to see the outside of the amphi- 
theatre. Its concave was turned to the hill, consequently we could 
not see its interior. It was not until we passed, and that my 
neck had been stretched some feet out of the diligence, that I 
caught a view of the seats. It is not broken and ruined, like 
the Coliseum. Its semicircle is perfect It looked the old 
B.onian in every stone. Here, doubtless, were the Gallic j^ri- 
souers of war sacrificed to grace a " Roman holiday." Many a 
noble Allobrogian struggled in the ring with the wild beasts of 
his native forests, and died amid the shouts of his victors. In 
glancing at such and similar scenes, how often recurred to my 
mind the verse : 

" What tales, what morals of the Elder day, 
If stones had language, could that pile convey." 



go FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

A poet has said that there are sermons in stones ; and verily, 
that solemn, gloomy vestige of the mighty power of the olden 
time, is more eloquent in its silence than a great many sermons 
which I have heard. 

A splendid arch appears ! And now, as we ajiproach it, 
snakes, shields, battle-axes, and other figures, all in ruins, yet 
sufiieiently solid and distinct, while crumbling, to tell us that 
Marius was here with his legions of Victory, and that this is 
his memento of the battle with the Allobroges. But how much 
brighter is the triumphal arch to Napoleon at Paris ! Caesar 
himself pales before Napoleon's blood-red glory. But we have 
more marvels in this valley of Beauty. Avignon, our dining- 
place, appears, not by itself, but by its splendid representative, 
the palace of the Bishop, whose lofty turrets and gray old towers, 
massive and substantial, are lifted high above the surrounding 
country. This view gives place to the high wall, not without a 
certain rude ornament, and not untouched by Time, which with 
its towers and deep moat surrounds this city of forty thousand 
people. An old aqueduct crosses the Rhone here ; or rather has 
crossed it once. Now it has broken down in the middle. Its 
windows and arches look mournful and dreary beside the new, 
prim, and saucy suspension bridge, which, just below it, leaps 
the stream, as if the efi"ort were of little consequence. Here, 
too, we see a splendid depot, and locomotives puffing over the 
iron rail. The old and new civilizations meet together. The 
middle and later ages kiss each other. 

You remember that there was an ancient tradition among 
the Romans, that when their Capital was founded, the god Ter- 
minus refused to yield to Jupiter ; and hence, the boundaries 
of Koman power never would recede. Vain and delusive pre- 
diction ! Had there been no other Juj)iter to subdue their 
Terminus, steam would have become the " Father of gods and 
men." The thunder of Jove must have succumbed to the light- 
ning of Morse. Steamboats and locomotives would have driven 
Terminus to his seven hills. In this interior city of France is 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 91 

an epitome of the great past, and the greater present ; the one 
splendid in decay, the other wonderful in its active energy. 
Upon this energy hangs the future fate of Nations. Iron, not 
gold, is the metal to be sought for, whose subtle power, alchemy 
in its most potent form, under the spell of its old enchanters, 
Raymond Lilly and Roger Bacon, could never rival. 

Over hills and down dales, amid mulberry groves and silk 
factories, and everlasting soldiers, we find the open country, and 
with !he speed of a locomotive we dash away in our diligence 
towards this my present locale of Avignon, where at the Nation- 
al, late royal (?) Hotel, strawberries and cherries blush to be 
seen in luscious prodigality. 

Two things yet deserve mention. Before we reached Avig- 
non, the castle called the ruins of the Baron d'Ardret appeai-ed. 
It towered upon high battlements, filled with port-holes. Art 
had been aided by Nature to construct one of those illustrations 
of strength, which, after repulsing many a gallant foe, has even 
bid Time defiance. The legend connected with this castle, as I 
gathered it from our conductor, is briefly, that the Baron whose 
name it bears, upon the breaking out of the French revolution 
in 1789, good-naturedly, no doubt, hurled four of his domestics 
over these terrific heights. That places it conspicuously upon 
my list of ruins. 

We dashed under the arched gateways of Avignon and into 
a courtyard ; and really the scene came over me like a romance 
of the middle ages. We entered a fine hotel, kept in a sort of 
old castle, yet fixed up most comfortably. All the houses here 
have stone or marble floors, and although these do not coincide 
altogether with our ideas of comfort, yet the romance of the 
thing — you know — makes up. We wished for a longer repose 
than two hours at this beautiful city ; but no ! down we dash to- 
wards Marseilles. What towns we passed — what olive orchards, 
what black and gray old rocks, what vineyards and terraces, be- 
fore our cars entered that three-mile tunnel, dark and damp, un- 
der the mountain, are all too common by this time to be partic- 



92 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

ularized. At last, tlirougb a mountain gorge appeared the Med- 
iterranean, with its bosom of blue, speckled with its sails of 
white. A summer storm came up as we drew near our destina- 
tion, a storm of rain, sunshine and rainbows. I saw one column 
of a beauteous bow coming out of an old tower, and gradually mov- 
ing into the Mediterranean. It arched us so completely that 
we may truly say, that we entered this ' Queen city ' of the 
Mediterranean, upon the last day of spring, under a bending 
heaven of prisms ! As it cleared away, the air was filled with a 
rich, interpenetrating lustre ; and the sun went down under a 
golden canopy which only hangs in a southern sky. 

Marseilles is a gay, godless, and not a very cleanly city ; 
soldiers fill every part of it. Its promenades are fine. We 
visited the Chateau of Flowers, which is the favorite resort on 
Sundays, of the population. It was well named. Flowers of 
every hue, beds laid off in every form, places for amusement 
and exercise, lakes with boats and swans, hills, grottoes, a circus 
and fountains, all unite to make it a place of pleasure, a favor- 
ite resort of the gay French. 

We went upon a high point near the sea, overlooking the 
city, to take a farewell of it, as well as a complete glance. We 
were not disappointed in our view. But we met three odd, tur- 
baned human beings upon the lofty promenade, seated cross- 
legged, and smoking as composedly as Mahomet amid a heaven 
of houris. I supposed they were Turks. They nodded. We 
nodded. The chief had, strangely enough we thought, a very 
long white beard (albeit a young man), a very fair complexion, 
and very light eyes, which he twisted very remarkably. Find- 
ing I did not advance in conversation, he inquired in French 
if we were not strangers, then if we were not English. ' i\o,i?., 
Non V rather emphatic. I asked him, in return, if he and his 
compatriots resided in Marseilles? ' Non., Non.'' Once more — 
delicate question to such a queer heathen, ' If he did not reside 
in Turkey!' ^ Moroc, Monsieur.' Whew! perhaps the Em- 
peror of Morocco himself He gravely pulled out his snuff 



FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 93 

box, and I, with a grand flourish (I hate snuff as bad as brandy), 
took a tremendous pinch ; and with the most approved Oriental 
sweep of the arm, applied it to my nose. Before the first ex- 
plosion took place, I was behind the bushes. ' Oh — Ah — Chee 
— Whoo-o !' six times sonorously loud. The Emperor roared. 
Our party roared ; and I described space, aided by gravity, 
remarkably rapid. Snuff is a miserable practice. None but 
heathens use it. 

I must bid farewell to France. She has been a garden of 
delight to me. Never was I so beholden to Nature and Art for 
enjoyment. 

I write amid the discussions of some six or eight white- 
robed Capuchin monks, whose sweet Italian (Tuscan it is), 
ravishes my ear, while it disturbs my pen. We are aboard of 
the Sardinian steamer Languedoc, bound for Leghorn and 
Naples. I cannot but look upon these strange monkish men 
with a sort of reverence. Sacrificing the world and its pleas- 
ures, continually engaged in spiritual or mental exercise, they 
do deserve the regard of every tolerant Christian. Whatever 
of abuse may have been by them perpetrated and perpetuated, 
I never can forget them as the preservators of the classics and 
the regenerators of the Arts. The Benedictines first penetrat- 
ed the chilly north of Europe and christianized it. From 
them sprung the infinite beauty of the Gothic architecture, and 
the entrancing sweetness of Music. The Augustines built fine 
Cathedrals, and attracted the untutored mind to the service of 
the God of Mercy. — The mendicant friars founded hospitals. 
As architects, as glass painters, as mosaic workers, as chem- 
ists, as carvers in wood and metal, the Benedictines were the 
first and almost only artists of the middle ages. St. Francis, 
when he wooed and won his bride, Poverty., in his brown sack 
and cowl, at the same time, gave the hue and tone to that mystic 
school of painting and poetry, which has ever been the greatest 
attraction to the loftiest genius. Giotto in painting, and Dante 
in poetry, — are they not offspring, noble enough to justify our 



94 FRANCE.— AN ENTRY AND AN EXIT. 

commendation ? In all, these poor monks worked not for them- 
selves ; but for the glory of God ! 

And now as they, with their clear dark eyes and lofty brows, 
are retiring to their berths, my eyes follow them as strange 
relics of an earlier day, lost to the active world and busy with 
scenes of the past and of the future. Sleep on ! Ye have no 
illiberal, harsh Protestantism following ye to your lonely pillows. 
May God reward your zeal in his service, by the fruition of your 
happiest hopes ! 



IX. 

■f'ljB %hmt nf Cnluiukris. 

" Italia I that tliou wert in thy nakedness 
Less lovely or more powerful, and could claim 
Thy right, and awe the robbers back who press 
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress." 

Byron. 

I HAD scarcely written the word " Genoa," in my journal, 
before the evening gun fi-om the fort was fired, the report of 
which startled a thousand echoes. Never did I hear such a fine 
succession of iterated sounds. Of course we rushed to the win- 
dow ; but only saw the smoke rising and beclouding the young 
crescent moon. The light-houses are gleaming around another 
crescent which the harbor of Genoa forms, while including in it 
the masts of a thousand ships. The long promenade of marble, 
which forms the roof of the Porticato alia Piazzo, whitens be- 
neath us, in the warm atmosphere ; and the sound of singing, of 
merry bells and of voices rise, forming a rare medley of music. 

Were I to select a word descriptive of this city, which is 
called the " superb," I would select the above — medley. Not 
only is it a medley in its people, its palaces, and its poverty ; 
but in its cathedrals, its cafes, and its scenery. As we approach 
the city from the blue sea, which we did in the morning, it seemed 
one compact mass of marble, cut out in semi-circular form for a 
harbor. It lies upon a high hill-side, — one street of palaces ris- 
ing above another, in close proximity. To all appearance, there 
is not much to be seen here. But judge not too quickly. You 
may find much, even in the little walk from the boat to the hotel, 
to reward your observation. No doubt, you will be first caught 
by the graceful and peculiar costume of the ladies. They are 
exceedingly well dressed, and walk nearly as easily and as finely 



96 THE HOME OF COLUMBUS. 

as our own American women. They wear a white veil, which 
being confined with a silver pin in the back part of a fine head of 
black hair, neatly braided, flows in the most elegant, wavy lines 
imaginable. It is disposed in handsome folds over as hand- 
some dresses. If you would go down the Strada Nuova, as we 
have to-day, the first idea would be — " why, can this be real — is 
it not a general bridal-day ? How happy and spruce dance the 
merry brides along this palace-street !" 

The other part of the population do not dress peculiarly. 
They have a harsh language, however, even though it be Ita- 
lian. Indeed, it is as difi"erent from the sweet Tuscan or Nea- 
politan, as I am from Hercules. The Sardinians cannot be un- 
derstood at Naples, any more than a Pottowattamie by a Flat- 
head. 

Upon entering our boat at Marseilles, where we spent a de- 
lightful day, we found three Americans, Mrs. Stephens, the au- 
thoress, and her company, with whom we formed a delightful 
acquaintance. She has been travelling in Europe for more than 
a year ; passing by virtue of her talents and reputation, among 
the best and noblest of Europe. And let it be remembered, 
too, that wherever she has been, she has not forgotten that she 
was a plain-spoken American lady. The reader may remember 
the cavalier manner in which she treated the Queen of Greece, 
who insulted our consul, by refusing to permit him to present 
them. It was capital. She told us the story with great eclat ; 
while we young embodiments of American grit and spunk, 
cheered it most joyfully. 

I had no idea that Genoa was of such consequence. She 
has not lost her commercial power since the days of Columbus. 
Others have excelled her — that is all. One hundred and fifty 
thousand people mostly depend on her commerce. She is the 
outlet in the Mediterranean, for Switzerland, Lombardy, and 
Piedmont. Her silks, velvets, and damasks, to say nothing of 
her filagree work in silver, which our ladies have been handling 
to-day in the famous Goldsmith-street, are prominent objects of 
manufacture. 



THE HOME OF COLUMBUS. 97 

The first thing which strikes a foreigner here, is the narrow- 
ness of the streets. Indeed, there are very few over which you 
cannot step from roof to roof Carriages are rarely seen. Mules 
are the only living objects visible, beside human beings. The 
streets are not gloomy, however. They are lined with fine 
houses, built when the maritime splendor of Genoa was at its 
zenith. These houses are all called palaces. They have been such, 
but from the poverty of the nobles, or from some other cause, they 
have been leased out. I saw a blacksmith shop in the lower 
story of one of them ; and little stores are not uncommon in 
some of the largest class. These palaces looked worn and tired ; 
their painting spoiled, and not unlike a fine lady jaded after 
some grand ball. The paintings on the marble walls are rub- 
bed and dim. The statues, almost all of them, have their noses 
knocked olF. The fine stair cases, with their guardian marble 
forms, look dirty and neglected. Yet Genoa is — superb ; every 
body says so. It would not do for us to say nay, to such a 
community of afiirmation. 

I do not mean to say that there are not exceptions, though 
few, to this untoward appearance of the palaces. Nor would I 
thus depicture the inner appearance. Our visions to-day forbid. 
There is an air of massiveness and stoneness about the edifices, 
which is as striking as it is eonifortless. This is as apparent in 
the old as in the new part of the city. The best of the palaces 
exhibit to the gazer moving past, a large hall, supported partly 
on columns, leading to an alcove, or court, surrounded by ar- 
cades, the arches of which are supported ixpon columns. Flights 
of marble steps lift themselves far up ; and above and beyond 
is a great stair-case rising on each hand, and frequently further 
beyond is a small garden, shaded by oranges, and sprinkled 
with the spray and voiceful with the music of fountains. 

We have not as yet visited the interior of any palace, though 
we have of some of the churches. Our first visit was to the 
Duomo, or Cathedral, built in the eleventh century. How dif- 
ferent are these churches in Italy, from Westminster or Notre 
5 



98 THE HOME OF COLUMBUS. 

Dame. These latter seem to be mouldering. Owing to the 
softer material, and a northern clime, they must of necessity 
first yield. To all appearance, the Duomo is as young as ever. 
It is of black and white marble, and is altogether out of shape. 
Only one tower is built where the taste calls for two. Through- 
out the church there is illustrated the Genoese medley. The 
aisles and naves are separated by fine Corinthian columns, con- 
nected by pointed arches of Gothic, and bearing a horizontal 
entablature ; above which is an arcade supported by columns 
and piers. The same black and white marble appears within. 

We are allowed to go within the choir. The seats are finely 
inlaid with musical instruments. A bronze Madonna and child, 
by BiANCHi, decorates the altar. After examining the two 
finest paintings (for in such a display of canvass and configura- 
tion one must select), we did not enter, and did not see the re- 
mains of John the Baptist, which are contained in the chapel 
dedicated to him. The chapel is elegant enough, with its four 
porphyry pillars, and a sarcophagus to contain the relics ; while 
a splendid shrine of Gothic panels, tracery, and finicals of the 
most exquisite kind, is inscribed with his history. 

There are several apocryphal relics in this church, as in most 
of the Italian churches. The prominent one is the Cati?io, a 
vessel said to be a gift to Solomon by his ancient admirer — she 
of Sheba ; and also said to be the dish which held the paschal 
lamb at the last supper ; and also, to be the identical dish which 
Joseph of Arimathea used to catch the blood from the bleeding 
side of our Saviour. This relic was never permitted to be seen. 
Some sceptical Germans, however, got access to it, and discover- 
ed it to be, instead of a single emerald, as was told, a dish of 
ordinary glass ! 

But we cannot enumerate the items of interest, sacredl}'' 
hoarded up in these churches. One old relic — which I could 
swear to — is a rescript in almost illegible Latin, to Constantine 
the Great, which is inlaid in the wall, and is no doubt coeval 
with that monarch. 



THE HOME OF OOLUMBUS. 99 

We leave the Duomo with its niches, twisted columns and 
mixed architecture, black and white marble, with not one idea 
of unity and order. It has not the simplicity in variety, which 
in the Gothic so charms the senses and awes the soul, by the 
association with Infinity. The other churches are less medley, 
but somewhat the same impression is left. On our first enter- 
ing the ungainly-looking church of Saint Sira, a perfect blaze of 
painting and richness arrested our sight. It seemed thronged 
with great masses of the pencil's populace. Angels and saints in 
white marble relieved the eye below ; and after ranging vip over 
the frescoed vaults, the sight found relief in a huge dome, still 
painted, but which opened to another dome, through which 
seemed hastening up to heaven the winged aspirants to the 
upper air, bearing through it a garlanded cross ! The concep- 
tion of this group, with its upward flight surrounded by forms 
of beauty all too lovely for earth, was only rivalled by the ge- 
nius which executed it. Forty marble columns, and all the 
apostles and prophets in marble, gave us the idea of profusion 
without beauty, and maze without form. The associations con- 
nected with this church are the best part of it. Here in the 
fifteenth century was Boccanegra created the first Doge of 
Genoa, amid cries of '•'■ vive il pojiolo." Here the eternal right 
of popular supremacy was asserted and embodied in him, whose 
fine form we just witnessed in the Ducal palace. The Genoese 
treasure his memory. Indeed foreigners who think the Genoese 
have no liberty, or resemble the other Italian cities, greatly err. 
I do not wonder that in the beginning of the present year 
(1852) Austria has made the insolent demand to have troops 
stationed in the arsenals of Sardinia. Sardinia is a constitu- 
tional monarchy to be sure ; but her councils represent the 
people and control the State. Books of the republican class 
are unrestrictedly circulated and sold here ; while at Naples all 
bonks, from the Bible and Shakspeare down to the latest French 
squib, are forbidden. Education in Genoa is a high object of 
public interest. I asked a merchant to-day in Goldsmith street, 



100 THE HOME OF COLUMBUS. 

how it happened that so many of the people spoke English. He 
responded that the course of instruction in the public schools 
was most thorough, including French, Grcrman and English. 
It is getting to be a great mark of nobility on the continent to 
speak English. Wo are in for that rank, finding it more easy 
than French. Custom is mighty. 

We visited the Ducal palace and the chamber of the grand 
council. It is pillared and frescoed off finely ; while ranged 
around, are the casts of statues which formerly stood in marble 
in the same niches, but which dviring Bonaparte's time, were 
thrown from their pedestals. The city has not yet lost the tra- 
ces of the French. It was held by Massena for a long period, while 
besieged even to the starvation point by the Austrians. 

Wc also visited other churches in Grenoa. They bear the 
same general appearance as the Duomo ; a style resembling the 
Arabian, or Saracenic commingled with the Gothic. In all, 
there is the same blaze of fresco, which, owing to the peculiar 
manner of the incorporation of the color with the lime in its wet 
state, gives out a lustre more brilliant than oil. The columns 
are of marble — red, white, and spotted ; some of them spiral. 
The Church of the Annunciation gleams with fretted gold. 
We noticed there, a fine painting of St. Francis dreaming of his 
Bride, Poverty, with the angels surrounding the slumberer. Al- 
so, a painting of the Last Supper. We could not begin to 
describe or criticise the paintings. Our only mode is to fix 
upon a few gems and study them. To run the eye over fine 
paintings, as we must do, is but to tickle the optic nerve for a 
moment. It leaves no impress upon the memor}'-. After going 
through the Church of Santa Maria — which is unlike all others 
being purely white within and without; after passing through 
the Church of the Jesuits, wherein fresco and tracery, substance 
and shadow, are intermingled so as to be confounded ; after listen- 
ing to the monotone of the chanting Franciscans, seeing the 
strange confessional with its penitent trembling at the ear-hole 
of the Father ; after being shown about by sly Italian priests, 



THE HOME OF COL UMB US. \ Q I 

until seeing and hearing became a burden, we ascended the hills 
and found, oh ! how grateful a relief, in the promenades and vil- 
las above the city. 

Let me give you a single description. Uno disce omnia. A 
long promenade hedged with telio, and winding about orange 
groves and fountains, led us to a flight of steps. Having ascend- 
ed we were immediately in the midst of numerous fountains in 
artificial grottoes. Above, are clinging to the rocks and bared 
to the sight, the smooth twisted roots of the fig-trees. We as- 
cend at this vestibule of verdure, through arched grape vines, and 
with the walls skirted with roses up — up — past terraces where- 
in are growing orange trees, full of golden fruitage, and exceed- 
ingly tempting to larceny. Here we stop upon a variegated 
pebble pave, while before us rises a yellow and white marble 
palace. Herein resides the poet and owner, the Marquis De 
Najora, whom we are informed is not yet arisen from his slum- 
bers. Oh ! luxurious idler and dreamer. All this paradise 
surrounds thee, but to woo thee to repose in that closed cham- 
ber. But it is of no use to moralize. Ethics must bend to 
beauty ; subjectivity to objectivity. 

All around the palace, amidst the foliage, are busts of the 
celebrated Genoese, among whom " Colombo" claims my first re- 
gard. Around, too, are cool, large grottoes made of shells, mir- 
rors and spars. Other grottoes are frescoed upon the walls in 
mockery of the cool originals near. Paths lead through them 
and up to a higher vantage ground. Can it be possible ? Must 
there be a higher heaven yet ? Stay ! Here is a name that 
rivets the attention, and there is a bust familiar asan American 
landscape. Under it is inscribed, 

" Alla Memoeia di Washington." 

Canova stands near. Below his bust is a billiard room. Farther 
on is a seat, at least 300 feet above the city, from which we may 
grasp Genoa in one glance. Near by upon another hill is a 



102 THE hOME OF COLUMBUS. 

large fortification in ruins, — the result of the popular commotions 
of 1848. Below are walks and trees of all kinds. The pepper-tree 
near the japonica; alche trees embracing the cypress and olive, 
lemons and figs ; the cerino full of berries, and the umbrageous 
fraschino. Scattered among them are tall, rare Egyptian palms. 

The fresh air comes up freighted with a rich burden of fra- 
grance. All around the bay are arranged the pyramidal roofs 
of the superb city, varied by the towers and steeples of the 
churches ; while the bay itself, fretted by a breeze ever so light, 
emulates the cerulean of the sky, save in that deep ribbon of 
blue which separates the rarer from the denser element. Up 
rises with the sound of voices and bells, and mingled with the 
song of birds (we must be faithful), the horrid, infernal music of 
unhappy donkeydom ! 

We had better seek another spot. If you are dainty about 
treading on lizards, you may let me lead. Here, upon the 
north-east, we have another view — a full sweep of the valley 
beyond Genoa. Yonder in that grove is the house where Byron 
lived for two years. It might well awaken the poet's soul to 
gaze up and down this valley of terraces and palaces. Beneath 
us is the plash, almost roar of waters. It is the aqueduct, so 
constructed as to empty its silver vein into a basin below, and 
apparently out of a grove. Trembling in its spray are oranges. 
Far above us even, rise other gardens and palaces, similar to 
this ; and far above them are the eternal hills bare and comfort- 
less. Now we may descend among flower vases, gum-elastic 
trees and roses, into the open street, to meet again the ever- 
lasting beggar of Italy. Whine away, poor human nature ! it 
is your brother, made of the same mortal clay with yourself, 
who holds that regal palace, adorned with art, and garnitured 
by nature. False to the memory, and recreant to the hope of 
Italy, he sleeps in ignoble ease, while the garden of Europe 
holds within its enclosure a degraded, begging and outcast popu- 
lation, whose rulers are serfs to Austria, or puppets of France. 

There are at least two thousand people now in the public 



THE HOME OF COLUMBUS. 103 

poor-house of Grcnoa, and God only knows liow many more ought 
to be thus jjrovided for. If beauty and art must flourish in 
these palaces and gardens at such an expense of misery, let the 
axe fall at the root of the poisonous tree, that its exhalations 
may no longer taint the mild air of this heaven-kissed clime. Let 
your marbles be overturned ; your Correggios and Guidos be cut 
into ribbons ; your frescos be whitewashed, and your soil of 
beauty indurated for ever. 

But this, we thank the Creator of the Beautiful, is not the 
sacrifice required. He who made the fair so near akin to what 
is good ; who gives immortality to both by the same law of his 
will, requires only the sacrifice of lustful power and absurd 
pomp. 

We spent the last few hours of to-day in passing through 
some of the superb palaces, whose outside we yesterday saw. 
The Salle palace is perhaps the richest in its collection of paint- 
ings, although it had no golden room like another we visited. 
Vandykes, Rubens, De Vincis, Paolis, Guidos, and others, line 
the resplendent walls ; while the never-failing fresco and statue 
meet you at every side-glance. One painting among them all 
I now remember distinctly. It is here for ever engraved. It 
is Tasso in the mad-house, at the foot of Rubens, while Mon- 
taigne, the French philosopher, stands near. The expression of 
the pale, woe-stricken poet, with his lofty sorrow and half maniac 
glare, as he kneels to be released by his visitors, has the very 
soul of Melancholy, not yet lost to Despair. It seemed to me, 
that in this picture I beheld the fate of Italy. Images of poetic 
grandeur surround her ; the Past beckons, and invites her to 
search its repository for the influence of Example ; the Future 
is lit up with hopes as beautiful as the angels which float upon 
her painters' canvass ; but the spell of Despair hovers near 
where Melancholy is already seated. Oh ! that the glorious 
soul of Massini might be created under the " ribs of death," 
which are even now visible beneath the rich vesture that nature 
has bestowed upon Italy ! 



lUniP,— iCiuiiig ml Dralr. 



"Hail to tbe great Asylum ! 
Hail to the hill-tops seven ! 
Hail to the fire which burns for aye! 
And the shield which fell from heaven 1" 



-LEGHORN TO ROME. 



Macatilay's Lays. 



AFTER leaving Genoa, we resumed our career over the deep 
blue of the Mediterranean and touched at Leghorn, where 
we left our good company, Mrs. Stephens. We delayed long 
enough to see all that Leghorn could show, which is little more 
than a statue with four ugly pirates chained — a local monument, 
representing an incident in the history of the city worthy of the 
best Roman days. The son of a Doge was sent after a Corsair, 
whose piratical adventures were the scourge of the sea. He 
was victorious, and in the flush of success, hesitated not to break 
the quarantine laws of Genoa, by entering port in disregard of 
their provisions, the penalty of which was death. He suffered 
the penalty. The Doge's justice did not yield to the paternal 
yearning. The monument supported by four pirates attests at 
once the valor of the victim and the impartial rigor of the law 
and its executive. 

We visited, pioneered by some whole-souled American offi- 
cers of the U. S. steamship Mississippi, which lies here, the 
grave of Tobias Smollett, the Novelist and Historian. It is a 
simple pyramid in the Presbyterian burying ground, enclosed by 
iron, around which flags and flowers grow, and snails crawl. — 
We then went aboard the noble steamer ; and truly we were 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 105 

proud of our country and its foreign service. We were so fortu- 
nate as to visit the Mississippi, during a visit of tlie Commodore 
(Morgan), and were received most cordially by all. The ship 
was about to proceed — where no one knew but the Commodore 
and Captain ; but it was generally thought that Kossuth and 
his companions were the object of the voyage East; and then 
(how they gladdened at the thought !) for HOME ! 

At Leghorn there is little to be seen. It is a large trading 
port. There is here little of Art or Beauty. The city is of re- 
cent origin, having been founded in the fifteenth century. Fer- 
dinand the first, one of the Medici, encouraged Moors, Jews, 
persecuted Catholics from England, and others to come to Leg- 
horn, where he granted them the equal privileges, which their 
descendants now enjoy. Leghorn is a free port ; by which is 
meant a port where the custom-house bleeds you freely ; even 
charging heavily for the privilege of landing. 

We met on board the Mississippi steamship, which was 
lying here, Powers, the sculptor ; and had the delight of his 
acquaintance, with a promise of its continuance at Florence. 
He had come down for the purpose of sending off his son to 
West Point. He was carelessly dressed, and hid beneath a 
"round-headed" felt, a rotund, pleasant face, and an intelligent, 
large eye of rare brightness. 

A lady companion not unknown in the literary world, whose 
opinion is generally entitled to authority in matters of art, does 
not (as do most Americans, and all Italians) rank Powers as 
the equal of many other American sculptors, and simply because 
his chief work, the Slave, does not express the high-souled in- 
dignation and flashing scorn, or the exquisite distress which a 
female, situated as the slave is supposed to be — should exhibit. 
In this criticism, the most beautiful and truthful principle is 
disregarded, not alone in my humble judgment, but in that of 
the best writer upon aesthetics known in the realm of criticism, 
the German Lessing. In his " Laocoon," he seems to have had 
in his eye, the very form of the Slave, with its noble simplicity 



106 SOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

and sublime patience under indignity, and to have answered just 
the objection above made. " As the depth of the sea remains 
forever quiet^ however the surface may rage, so the expression 
in the figure discovers in the midst of Passion a great and calm 
soul." Is not this the attitude and expression of the Slave? 
Where, in all the array of art in that Crystal Palace, can be 
found such quiet grandeur, such nameless simplicity of distress? 
— After the eye had palled with gazing on the gauds of the In- 
dies and the south of Europe, I invariably found the heart 
(which has a reason of its own) impelling me toward the Slave ; 
there to dwell in silence upon the beautiful result of that genius 
which gleamed in the piercing eye of our American Powers. 
The idea of the sculptor is not, as the objector must erroneous- 
ly assume, to follow nature ; but his ideal projected from nature 
into the plastic air of his imagination. The Slave, if it were 
distorted with distress or wrought into an agony of indignation, 
would lose its auriole of calm glory, which ever shines in the 
subduing influence of the soul over the body. 

We saw and passed tlie Isle of Elba, only notable for being the 
prison of greatness ; and the morning of the 4th of June, found 
us in the harbor of Civita Vecchia, surrounded by massive walls. 
The place is distinguished for nothing except that it is the gate 
to Rome. The vexations of the custom-house are not so ter- 
rific as is imagined. We have found gentlemen in the officers. 
Let the traveller remember, especially if a lady, that the want 
of baggage is the greatest relief Our ladies absolutely left all 
their trunks at Paris, and with a carpet bag apiece, have passed 
easily all barriers, and penetrated into the Eternal City. 

2. Approach to Rome. 

The road from Civita Vecchia, which we traversed by a dil- 
igence conducted by a bob-coated bandit of a postillion, lies 
mostly along the sea. The country resembles Ohio in its roll- 
ing hills and wheat covered fields. Harvest time on all sides 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 107 

made the country seem busy. The road was lined with great 
loads of hay moving to Rome, drawn by beautiful cattle, with 
long polished horns and distended nostril — worthy to be sacri- 
ficed to Jupiter himself We passed several old ruins, and 
among the rest the Egyptian tumuli, at IVIonterone, which were 
opened by the Duchess of Sermoneta, in 1838. They are now 
closed again. Vases were found ornamented with the lotus, and 
painted ostrich eggs were not wanting. We also passed the Cse- 
ritis Amnis, rendered classical by Virgil, as well as other pla- 
ces of historic interest. The rich twilight of antiquity began 
to gloom about the old towers and castles, which ever and anon 
we perceived upon the sea-coast. Especially should be remem- 
bered, the polygonal walls of a Pelasgic temple, near the pictu- 
resque fortress of Santa Sevaia, which was once the head-quar- 
ters of the Tyrrhenian pirates. 

As we approach Rome, these interesting relics increase. 
The very dust which flies in our faces is without doubt as sacred 
as it is unpleasant. For the distance of twenty miles before we 
reached Rome, St. Peter's lofty dome hung its conspicuous archi- 
tecture in mid air ; and what was so strange, although we saw 
it, as it were a half mile off, we did not approach seemingly 
any nearer. Indeed we never suspected it to be the marvel of 
Michael Angelo, until within a few miles of Rome, when the 
certainty flashed upon us, that it must be St. Pcter''s. We had 
thought it a church of some village near ; but the dome of the 
" Pantheon hung in air " became more apparent, and by this 
great demonstration, we were assured that it was Rome itself 
we saw ! I doubt if there can be any feeling more tumultuous 
and grand, than that which ushers Rome into the chambers of 
the vision ! It was sunset as we approached the Cavalleggieri 
gate ; and before we entered it the moon had assumed her mild 
sway, casting over the palaces and vineyards which lined the 
Aurelian way, her 

" wide and tender light 



Which softened down the hoar austerity 



108 ROME, LIVING AND BEAD. 

Of ragged desolation, and filled 

As 't were anew, the gap of centuries ; 

Leaving that beautiful which still was so, 

And making that so, which was not, till the place 

Became religion, and the heart ran over 

With worship of the great of old." 

Can this he the fountain of Power, almost supernal ? Power, 
secular in the past, which still rules our spirits " from its urns ;" 
Power spiritual, in the Present, which gives the canon to more 
than the half of Christendom ! 

We passed St. Peter's, with its colonnades, and its deep 
shadows, swelling vast and beautiful in the silver sheen of the 
moon. Driving down the piazza of St. Peter's, we recognized 
the lofty and lonely Castle of St. Angelo, and in a twinkling 
we were on its bridge, the old Pnn& Aelius, and the Tiber rolled 
beneath ! We could not discern the color of tlie classic stream. 
The statues upon the bridge looked grim and majestic ! This 
is Rome ! Not the foster child of the she-wolf; for ancient 
Rome lies at the extreme south. TJiis is Rome of modern 
days, whose apostolical rescripts have engaged the British parlia- 
ment for months. This is the powerless-powerful Pontificate, 
whose thunders may be hushed by the French cannon the next 
hour, but whose silent authority is ministered unto by thousands 
of handmaid churches and millions of devotees, throughout the 
world ! 

After passing through some dirty, miserable streets, we 
emerged into the region of palaces, darted down a dark avenue, 
and drove under the old forum of Antoninus, upon whose high, 
massive roof there is a building and a profusion of verdure, — 
and which is now used as acustomhouse. While undero-oing the 
customary search, we observed the eleven Corinthian columns of 
Greek marble. Some of the old architraves are preserved ; but 
the bases and capitals are gone. 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 109 



3. — French Soldiers. 

The eternal city has so often been described, and its every 
column numbered, that it would be gratuitous in me to attempt 
any thing of the kind. 

Thus far we had found our own way, without the aid of 
swindling guides, but here they are necessary. Not only guides 
in the human shape become essential, but Murray himself began 
to compensate us for lugging him about. In the latter is found 
every spot of classical association ; and to undertake, even upon 
a small scale, to enumerate these, would be as foolish as it is 
impossible. A few general views will suffice. These shall be 
taken without pedantry and Avithout color. 

There is one object connected with Rome that intrudes itself 
at every step. It is the French soldier. The sound of brazen 
martial music now reminds me of him. Pope Pius sleeps 
sweetly, no doubt, under the everlasting marching, fifing and 
tooting of the soldier. I understood that some time ago he 
sent word to the French commandant, that the city was in good 
order and quietude ; but France was as obtuse as an adder to 
the hint. Why ? Austria was pouring her soldiers into Tus- 
cany^ and it was feared that Rome was their final destination. 
The Pope and Cardinals, it is said, even second the efforts of 
the Republicans in order that they may be free from the French 
rule. There are now in this city over eight thousand French 
soldiers, and ten thousand more are expected. Th'ey infest 
galleries, churches, gates, villas and palaces. Rome seems 
destined by the Almighty to answer for her past sins in the 
triple exactions of a military, ecclesiastical and civil domination. 
It was here that the nations of old, including ancient Gaul, lost 
their liberty, and it is here the nations, including present Gaul, 
now appear to enslave Rome herself 



no ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 



4. — The Capitol View. 



Passing through long lines of soldiery, we direct our course 
to Capitol Hill. From its tower, the general survey of the city 
should first be made. It standj? between the new or Ecclesias- 
tical Rome, and the old or Pagan Rome ; between the living 
and the dead. This point is peculiarly appropriate and thrilling 
for a first view. It was here that Gibbon sat, when he contem- 
plated the august relics of former glory ; and saw starting from 
behind each fragmentary pillar or arch, the mysterious influence 
of Deity, writing the history of the nations. It was here that 
he first conceived the idea of writing the "decline and fall" of 
that city, the closing scene of whose magnificent career he de- 
scribes as the " most awful in the annals of mankind." 

At the base of the hill, on either side of the long flight of 
steps which have often been ascended by kneeling friars, is a 
fountain. The colossal Gemini are at the top of the flight, and a 
colossal bronze of Aurelius, on horseback, in the centre. On 
your left is the temple of Jupiter, which, like most of the ancient 
ruins, is converted from Paganism to Christianity. You find 
yourself, after many windings, in the tower. From the eastern 
view, immediately below, is the Forum, the spot which was 
once the heart of ancient Rome. The artist, upon the subse- 
quent page, gives some idea of its position and appearance. It 
was here that Hortensius and Tully spoke, and winged words 
flew to the hearts of thousands through the same blue atmosphere 
which now surrounds these broken columns. Even yet, 

"The iminortal accents glow, 



And still the eloquent air breathes, — ^buvns with Cicero ! " 

The temple of Vespasian, now only three columns ; the arch 
of Septimus Severus, with its strange configurations; the temple 
of Jupiter — the Thunderer — are seen ; and further on, down 
the Sacra Via, on every side are irregular piles of ruins ; tow- 



HOME, LIVn'G AND DEAD. 1 1 1 

ering up sublimely among which, like a crown upon the hoary- 
head of antiquity, is the Coliseum. On the right, the eye is 
absorbed by the immense ruins of the palace of the Csesars, 
utterly misshapen and haggard, clothed with rank grass, and 
opening by damp vaults underneath. It is not unworthy of the 
description of Byron, who saw it covered with cypress and ivy 
matted together ; with hillocks heaped upon what were cham- 
bers, with its arches and columns crushed into fragments, and 
nothing left but the name — "Imperial Mount" — to tell how 
human greatness can fall. 

As we stood looking upon the scene below, the eye ever and 
anon glancing toward the Tiber upon the right, and passing in 
one sweep its valley of relics, we could repeat almost in mockery 
the gratulations of Macaulay's lay, at the head of our chapter. 

Mockery indeed, if we recur to the present. What a mise- 
rable set of people — what " a rakehelly rout of ragged rascals" — 
are those below; some laying in the shadow of the Arch of Titus; 
some pitching coppers near Constantine's Basilica; some digging 
fishing-worms near the Appian Way ; others driving miserable 
donkeys and ox-carts ; others working in the ruins for relics ; 
and others making ropes upon that pathway where the spoils of 
the extremest east and west were paraded, whei*e legions of vic- 
torious braves marched under the potential eagle, where Sallust 
and Livy, Virgil and Horace (jolly old Satirist !), Marcellus 
and Cato, all walked and talked, and where the fluent sonorous- 
ness of the Latin rung upon the enchanted air and made Ora- 
tory immortal ! 

The men of might rise from these gloomy vaults and pass 
again beneath these crumbling arches and pillars — an exceeding 
great army. History gives up its dead, even in the midst of 
temples desecrated by the smell of fish and the meanest of 
offices. Theatres loom grandly, even though converted into 
stables ; and mausoleums and palaces rise far into the glistening 
air, although Stefano has therein a blacksmith shop, or Michael 
sells in them cabbages to poor Franciscans. What are all these 



112 SOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

sacrileges? Are we not in the proud capitol of that metropolis 
of which Julian said — "All the inhabitants of the (known) earth 
belong to her ;" and of which Claudius could truly say, that she 
was the fountain of all laws ? Was it not here that the North- 
ern conquerors of Rome placed supreme power in the hands of 
a poor pastor, whose prerogative grew so glorious and powerful, 
that Charlemagne ascended the steps of St. Peter's to acknow- 
ledge it ; and which seemed in outward splendor, as it was in 
real power, the visible vicegerency of God upon earth ? Can 
we not discern, in the present abasement of that power, the hand 
of Him who is the author of all history ; whose arm overturns 
the proudest steeds of Pompey and the columns of Trajan, the 
finest marbles of Aurelius and Augustus, and the most magnifi- 
cent arch of the greatest Cipiesar 1 It is worth while to come 
from the Western world, to see how God Almighty writes his- 
tory, in which nations come and go, as rainbows. Truly, Italy 
is a conspicuous chapter in that momentous history ; but is it 
all written ? Would that her people could obey the inspiration 
of Massini : — •' Give to Italy your thought, your counsel, and 
your blood. Raise it up great and beautiful, as foretold by your 
great men. — Let it be onc^ as the thought of God ! You are 
twenty-four millions of men, endowed with active, splendid 
faculties, with a tradition of glory — the envy of the nations of 
Europe. Your eyes are raised to the loveliest heaven, and 
around you smiles the loveliest land of Europe. You are encix*- 
cled by the Alps and the sea — boundaries marked out by God, 
for an army of giants. And you must be such, or — nothing !" 

Shall it be nothing 1 When such sentiments can be thus 
uttered, is there no hope ? Is man here but the insect caught 
in the unyielding amber of an infallible theocracy? Shall 
Popery, the joint tool of France and Austria so long, and soon, 
we trust, to be the tool of neither, for ever crush the energies of 
myriads of human beings ? We will not cease to hope for the 
people. The reign of Injustice is not eternal — it feeds upon its 
own black heart. Dark though seems the prospect, we will 
strike up the cheering song : — 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. II3 

" "When wilt tlioii save the people ? — 
Oh God of mercy, when ? 
Not kings and lords, but nations — 

Not thrones and crowns, but men? 
Shall crime breed crime for ever ? 

Strength aiding still the strong — 
Is it thy will ? Oh, Father ! 
No I say the mountains ; No ! the skies ; 
Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise. 
And songs ascend, instead of sighs, — 
God save the People 1 " 

5. Our. Consul and the Villas. 

There is no keener delight while travelling abroad, than 
that which follows a meeting of friends and Americans. Espe- 
cially is it the case, when these friends have opportunities of 
unfolding the mysteries which perplex the sojourner. Our 
Consuls have it in their power to endear themselves to their 
fellow-countrymen, in a peculiar manner. Not that they all 
do this ; by no means. As to our charge at Rome, Mr. Cass, 
we cannot refrain from expressing publicly the gratitude of 
our hearts, for the urbane and cordial manner with which he 
has received and aided us. He is well beloved at Rome by all. 
Even now at his house there is a young American from Geor- 
gia, who has returned from Syria with the fever, receiving the 
last kind offices to the dying from our warm-hearted Consul. 
The foreign officers of our government should all be such. I 
regret to say that, at some points, some of these offices are 
filled with foreign upstarts, who know just enough of English 
to treat you cavalierly, and who, in comparison with our good 
Consul at Rome, deserve no mention, unless it were a rebuke. 

Mr. Cass has a fine gallery of paintings and sculpture. 
During the troublous times of 1848, he alone, among the 
foreign Consuls, remained. As money was scarce, and gems of 
Art plenty, and every thing precarious, he had the opportunity 



114 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

of purchasing the works of the masters at the most insignificant 
prices. He showed me a Gnido, for which he paid five dollars, 
and for which he could now obtain hundreds. Works that he 
gave hundreds for, would now be fortunes to him, were he dis- 
posed to sell. 

Through his kindness we obtained access»to two of the best 
villas near Rome, that of the Borghese, and that of the Albani 
family. 

The Borghese was formerly the great promenade of Rome. 
Its park was even superior to Hyde ; superior because it was 
every where adorned with statues of the finest mould. The 
commission of defence against the French, thought proper to 
upturn and destroy some of the finest parts of this villa ; but 
the works of Art in the long galleries remain untouched. 
These galleries are entailed and descend with accretions from 
age to age in the same family. The park is but the wreck of 
what it was before the Revolution ; but even now it is a miracle 
of a cool and beautiful retreat. One peculiarity of these villas 
is, that in their walls are placed the old fragments and inscrip- 
tions which once adorned the ruins about the Capitol. They 
are rare and weird in their potency over the mind ; lulling it 
into a sense of the hallowed past, and making it contempo- 
rary with the great which they commemorate. 

6. Italian Art. 

Every where m these villas is seen form ; here, minute 
and graceful ; there, colossal and awful ; yonder, fragmentary 
and mournful. But every where is form. Wh}' — (for the mind 
must repose amid this continuous range of painting and statuary 
to ponder general principles), why this idolatry of the Italian 
mind, to form ? In itself, it is but the quality of a material 
object. It cannot be destroyed, however, without destroying 
the individual subject to which it belongs. Matter, circum- 
scribed and limited, is form ; and to be beautiful it must wave 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 115 

or curve. To be beautiful in tbe highest spiritual sense, 
there must emanate from that form the passions of life in all 
their multiplied variety. The highest expression of passion 
may be represented in the human countenance, and this ex- 
pression is beautiful in a threefold sense ; physically beautiful, 
that is, independent of any expression of character ; beautiful 
in the expression of some permanent and distinctive disposition; 
and beautiful in the expression of some emotion which we love 
or approve. The union of all produces that perfection of beau- 
ty, which to-day we have admired in the Curtius leaping into 
the Gulf; in the Venus of Canova. for which Pauline Borghese, 
the sister of Napoleon, sat ; in the celebrated Apollo Sauroc- 
tones of Praxiteles, considered by connoisseurs the most exqui- 
site bronze statue in the world, and in the ever young and 
seraphic Antinous, crowned with lotus, which, next to the 
Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere, is the most beautiful monu- 
ment of the Elder Art. This last gem, although it is over two 
thousand years old, glances in its white radiance, as if just from 
the hand of Grecian genius. TWse last two pieces are in the 
Albani galleries, intermingled with a host of lesser beauties, 
and surrounded with landscapes, urns, and marble pillars. In 
viewing them, you tread over mosaic paves of delicate work- 
manship ; while above you, look down multiform beauties in 
enduring fresco ! Out of the fine windows are leafy prospects 
and embowering glades, down which the w^iite forms of Nuraa, 
Minos, Virginius, and Scipio, " move to your pausing eye." 
Fountains playfully burst into the warm air, and tinkle softly 
and melodiously. 

We depart with a wondering, almost bewildered mind. How 
many throbs, wild and great, have followed the million pencil- 
touches and chisel-strokes, which have here imaged thought, to 
vivify the future ! How many scenes of joy and sorrow has 
genius embodied, not of the ideal only but of the real, — " all 
compact ;" for the ideal in its first prompture bounds from the 
oviim of the real, not at once full-fledged, but with the elements 



116 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

of aerial life, to be cultivated by classic myth, historic deed, 
and the " aims and triumphs of a hero's life." The material 
leaps docile into the arena of beauty, under the idealizing power 
of Art. The stony crypt of the gray past is penetrated, and 
becomes a star-strewn vault whei-e imagination may gaze into 
the Infinite, and by gazing, learn to decorate life with forms of 
dreamlike softness and heroic grandeur. 

With what endless repetition does beauty enshrine herself 
along these corridors of Art! Here all Homer is embodied; 
there the ^neid ; and further on, the long line of Roman 
Caesars shine upon their pedestals. As all the gods of all na- 
tions came to Rome and were absorbed in her Mythology, so 
they were all represented with their various attributes, acting 
in the sullen stone, and speaking from the dumb canvas. The 
phase of Beauty here 

" repeats itself for ever, 



And, repeated, ever pleases." 
• 

There is one statue which stands in the loftiest niche of my 
memory. We went to the Church of St. Peitro to see it. It 
is the Moses of Michael Angelo ! It is colossal, and was intended 
to form a part of the tomb of Julius II. Although it is not 
surrounded as the artist expected, yet its commanding expres- 
sion and majestic mien make it more than Olympian. It is the 
leader and lawgiver of Israel. He has seen the Ineffable One 
upon Sinai ! How awful and sublime is that terrific front ! How 
meanly and indifferently are all the other niches of the church 
filled, beside this great work of the greatest of Artists ! The beard 
and horns have rendered it obnoxious to criticism ; but they give 
the air of the demi-god to the majestic marble. It may be 
that they are blemishes. There are spots even upon the sun. 

Must Genius and Poverty ever go hand in hand ? In the lit- 
erary world it has ever been thus. In a national point of view 
Italy illustrates it. It was through suffering, that the brightest 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. II7 

SODS of eartli were educated into the priesthood of power. The 
same enthusiasm which worshipped the charms of the Virgin 
soul — the " Perfume of Paradise," — yet lingers here about its old 
haunts. It is seen upon the veriest ox-cart, whose figure-head 
is a beauteous Madonna. It shone in the filagi'ee and mosaic 
of Italy at the World's Fair. It stares you in the face at every 
corner, where prints and paintings are exposed. It is carried 
upon the cane-heads of the merchant. It flows in the fleecy 
veil of the lady. In fine, is not Italy happily likened to the 
magic gift possessed by the girl of the fairy story, who dropped 
pearls and diamonds at every opening of her mouth, to the sad 
detriment and loss of her teeth, those homely but very needful 
functions of speech and mastication ! 

In these poor ideas about Art, I do not mean to be critical. 
I have neither the disposition, nor the ability, to criticise the 
great works, which are seen but to be admired without question. 
Universal taste has stamped its signet upon them, as infallibly 
as upon the Iliad or ^neid ; and though a thousand connois- 
seurs should " peep at them with the rounded hand," they 
would still shine peerless in their perfections, and permanent in 
their beauty. 

7. Coliseum and St. Peter's. 

The finest contrast which Rome presents is the Coliseum 
and St. Peter's. The one is at the nadir, the other at the zenith ; 
the one was dedicated to the destruction of that religion which 
now is enshrined in the other. The one is the marvel of an- 
tiquity ; the other is the wonder of modern time. One was 
used for the gratification of the meanest passions ; the other as 
the temple of Him who taught Peace and practised Benignity. 
Indeed the contrast might run on, until comprehended at last, 
in this, that the one was the offspring of Pagan power ; and the 
other the result of Christian power. 

There are no two spots upon the round earth so full of inter- 
est. It may, perhaps, be a matter of pleasure to my readers to 



118 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

hear from one who has been sm-rounded by influences common 
to both writer and reader, about these spots of celebrity, and the 
emotions they awaken. 

Before reaching the Coliseum you pass through a long line 
of ruins, the columns of which are still standing, and out of the 
crevices of which long tufts of grass and flowers grow. The 
greatest part of the ruins is, however, fifteen feet below the 
ordinary level ; and large excavations were made, in order to 
reach the marble floors. Many of the columns only show the 
capitals. This void has been filled simply by the crumbling 
of the walls. In the ruins of the huge ai-ches of Coustantine's 
Basilica, great fragments have fallen some two hundred feet 
from the roof, and have been moved aside to accommodate the 
goats and cows which herd there. 

We entered the beautiful church of Santa Francesca, which 
is built upon the temple of Venus, and examined the floor. It 
is the same exquisite mosaic which was trod by the devotees of 
the myrtle in the time of Roman luxury. 

Our eyes take in th*^ old sites of at least fifty temples and 
theatres, as we look down the sacred way between the arches. 
On the right hand is the palace of the Cassars, now owned by an 
Englishman, Mr. Mills, (Oh ! Caesar, where are your wounds 
now, and where is your Mark Antony to preach their woe ?) who 
has torn down the little shops which once lined the way. Work- 
men are engaged in levelling the ground, and in breaking stone 
about the Coliseum. Their song really enlivens the dread deso- 
lation of the scene. An old fountain called Mcta Sudons is 
near, wherein the gladiators were wont to refresh themselves 
after the labors of the ring. It was an important appendage to 
the Coliseum, — that splendid pile of irregular, circular, columnal 
ruins, which stand out the most perfect of the relics of Old Rome ! 
The Coliseum is full of holes, out of which metals have been 
extracted ; and its windows serve to relieve its dim arches with 
wild and broken light. As we approach it, we pass the Appian 
Way, the only refreshing street in Rome. Its long vistas of 



EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. Jig 

trees betoken the march of improvement in that direction. We 
approach the old structure. The warder unbolts the heavy 
gate. We pass under the arches, past a strange fresco of Jeru- 
salem and Calvary, and enter the interior ; and lo ! tier on tier 
of heavy stone, covered with green, patched with brick work, and 
rising up into a huge oval, carved out from the clear vault of 
heaven, a great sapphire irregularly round ! Birds are flying 
about the old walls, fig-trees grow here and there ; a ci-oss stands 
in the middle of the arena, and fourteen statues of our Lord's 
passion are placed around it. Deep, dark dungeons, in which 
the early Christians, prisoners, and wild beasts were kept, gloom 
about the place. 

The amphitheatre is built principally of travertine. The 
external elevation consists of four stories. The area was once 
nearly sixty acres. There were four tiers of seats corresponding 
with the external stories, and these would hold 87,000 specta- 
tors ! More than two-thirds of this immense building has been 
taken down, and now forms part of the palaces of Popes and 
Cardinals. The Coliseum was built by Vespasian in the year 
A. D. 72. Nearly 400 years saw it the scene of barbaric speo- 
tacles. At its dedication, 5,000 wild beasts (heavens ! what a 
howling there must have been !) were slain. St. Ignatius here 
met the death of a Christian martyr ; and how many moi-e suf- 
fered in this same den of devils, history amply records. It has 
been used as a fortress, a woollen factory, then as a saltpetre 
factory, and finally sanctified with the " Pou. Max" upon it, and 
consecrated to the memory of the martyrs. 

A stair-case led us up through the galleries to the summit. 
The view from one of the " rents of ruin" is fine. The temple 
of Nero, and a large garden of flowering pomegranates, almonds 
and figs, fill up the foreground ; while the hills of Tivoli are spread 
out under a delicate haze of blue in the distance. The splendid 
Basilica of St. John Lateran lifts its fine proportions between. 
In front, we look across the Tiber to the green hills of the Jani- 
culum, where Oudinot and Garibaldi contested for the city, and 
left the marks of the Vandal upon the beauty of Art. 



120 ROME, LIVING AND BEAD. 

Byron describes the Coliseum as he saw it by moonlight, 
and his description I read to our little company, from off a 
broken seat of 

/ "That noble wreck in ruinous perfection." 

We expect, if we can venture out under these delusive moon- 
lights, to enjoy the dark waving of the trees in the blue mid- 
night, and the shine of the stars through the rough old windows, 
and recall the touching pathos of that marble gladiator of the 
Capitol, which personates the prisoner from the Danube, leaning 
upon his hand in the bloody circus, while his dizzy brain reels 
with the death dance, and he thinks of his hut upon his native 
stream, and his Dacian wife and young barbarians at play ! The 
shout of thousands rings again from side to side, in this vast 
arena, as in fancy I see the gladiator sink beneath the blow 
of the kingly beast. Rome had here her holiday ; what recked 
the poor slave's life 1 

Ah ! different — far different — is Rome now ! To-day I heard 
before the assembled Cardinals and Pope, a dark-skinned Abys- 
sinian — a student of the Propaganda — grow eloquent in classic 
Latin, over the mercy and love of that Saviour whose precepts 
teach the equal right of all to live, and that — for ever. 

I am now called away to see the Coliseum by moonlight. 
My heart bounds to behold the soft radiance of Dian flinging its 
lustre of beauty amid the rough and broken shadows, and among 
the enormous crevices and flaws. 

We are returned. The dream is over. Dream ? How else 
could float in the soft light of an Italian moon such a stupendous 
miracle of beauty. How lonely in their loveliness the surround- 
ing ruins sleep in the mellow lustre ! 

On our way, we stopped a while before the column and forum 
of Trajan, to admire its rounded shaft, with its colossal figure 
and its broken columns, standing like sentinels about the monu- 
ments of the Past. The arch of Severus, the temple of Jupiter 
Stator, and the " nameless pillar with a buried base," stood si- 



ROME, LIVING AND BEAD. j[21 

lent as the tomb. What are they, but the tomh of buried 
power ? Their gestures point backward to the abyss and rear- 
ward of time, to show what was, and what must be. The moon 
breaks through the arches of Constantine's Basilica, and glistens 
below upon the fragments which have fallen from the aperture. 
Now we pass under the arch of Titus ; and the seven golden 
candlesticks are lit by the soft luminousness, and reflect evi- 
dence strong as holy writ, of the identity of the arch as the 
memorial of the conqueror of Jerusalem. Blot out all other 
records, and leave these candlesticks and this moonlight, by 
which they are made visible ; and the greatest prophecy of old 
is proven by stone ! 

And now the Coliseum stands confessed in her garment of 
moonlight, the perfect ruin, the svMimest structure in tlie ivorld! 
How its round walls glisten ! Is it not perfect ? Show flaw or 
rent or breach now ? Doth not the clear shine, wall up, with its 
crystal architecture, each crevice, each window, each rent? Is 
not this material of richer lustre than even those rare gifts of 
the Pasha of Egypt to the Pope — the alabaster pilasters and 
columns which to-day we saw at St. Paul's ? How full does the 
night scoop out of the huge circle its arches of darkness ! Hun- 
dreds of these arches repeat the gloom around the vast circum- 
ference. The great area is chequered with irregular lights and 
shades, playing among every form, and rising tall and dream- 
like, against a star-strewn and a moonlit heaven. 

Within that circle, covering six acres, how much has been 
enacted ; of sportive savagery and noble martyrdom, how much? 
Can it be that but one-third of what was the Coliseum only re- 
mains in that vast pile 1 Yes ; for we have passed to-night, 
palace after palace, constructed out of its material ; and we can 
see that the outer arches have been peeled off (as it were) time 
after time ; yet so much remains that the imagination reels un- 
der the vision. 

We drove around, taking in, with some few hundred yards, 
a small segment of the circle, when the glisten of a bayonet, 
6 



122 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

with a challenge in French, " Stand V reminded us that even 
this pride of Rome was humiliated by the guard of foreign sol- 
diery. Once it was not so. Gods ! If the old Scipios, within 
whose dark tombs we were to-day, could only " revisit the 
glimpses of the moon" to-night, it would make their ghostly 
teeth chatter with rage, .to see their seven-hilled city under the 
control of the descendants of those barbarians who formed part 
of their triumphal marches, and who, perhaps, to grace a Roman 
holiday, fought the beasts of that Coliseum which their de- 
scendants now guard. 

We turned about. Finally we found admission to the build- 
ing. The walls loom up much higher than they seemed in day- 
light. They seemed now close against the sky. A white fleecy 
mantle of cloud streams from the moon, and hangs over the jag- 
ged edges and outer rim of the theatre. The verdure is all 
silvered ; and upon the north side, where the full radiance falls, 
looks like thin mist. The arches, doorways and crannies, are 
black upon that side, in bold contrast with the other, where 
they are lighted up. The stars glimmer down aud overpeep 
the horizon of stone — innumerably ; spangling an awning of 
blue, richer than ever was spread at the royal tournament of 
old. A solitary bird startles the echo — so melancholy, from 
the darker side of the ring. This is the only sound heard amid 
the desolation. Shouts no longer crack the welkin ; the roar of 
beasts no longer answers the greeting of the populace. Yet 
through these old walls, the storms of nearly two thousand 
years have whistled, and roared, and beat ; yet it stands, the 
monument of Rome, and the everlasting testimony for that 
Christianity, whose early apostles met Death and gained the 
Victory in its inhospitable embrace. 

We drove home past a temple in front of which are great 
piles of rocks. Among them, are water-gods, tritons, and horses 
colossal, around and out of which gush, in every direction, 
streams of water, falling into beauteous basins, clear as the moon- 
light which flashes against it, and musical as the birds which 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 123 

sing near its natural fountains among tlie hills of Tivoli. This 
is the sweet " virgin " fountain. It takes its name from an an- 
cient story, which in bass-reliefs is told upon the lofty temple's 
face. 

Why have we nothing like this in America? Why is Art so 
slow '? It is because Time has been so brief with us. Nothing 
can make an American abroad feel how much his country has to 
do, as to see what strides others have made, who have been even 
less favorably placed. Ours is a struggle yet for the mate- 
rial — the needful. The Ideal will succeed, as the rainbow doth 
the sun and shower. We are following the true order of nature. 
With our Religion and Liberty we shall not have Coliseums, to 
remind future nations of any departed barbaric glory. Nobler 
temples will be dedicated to nobler purposes. 

It remains for us to exhibit the contrast of the Coliseum, — 
St. Peter's ; and to recall the reflections which that celebrated 
pile and the Vatican aroused. 

Three visits to these spots have given me some familiarity* 
with them ; but it is not the familiarity which ceases to wonder, 
much less that which creates contempt. Neither is it that pom- 
pous procession of religious association, moving down the corri- 
dors, the aisles, and through the wilderness of stone, called St. 
Peter's, which excites so much admiration and wonder. It is the 
untold magnificence of Art, which on every side bursts upon the 
unaccustomed mind of an American. We have seen exhibitions 
of art at every step throughout Rome. Sometimes in the chur- 
ches, it is in exceeding bad taste, and even disgusting. I do 
not remember, however, to have seen any thing quite so bad as a 
picture of the Last Supper, of which I have read, and which, I 
believe, was found in a church in Mexico — where the Cherubim 
and Seraphim act as cooks and scullions ; one scouring a dish ; 
another blowing a fire ; a third frying eggs ; while in the back- 
ground, with head and wings prominent, others are passing round 
the edibles. But this specimen of Art will serve as a comment 
on a great deal of the worst Art to be found in Roman churches. 



124 ROME, LIVING AND DEAL. 

Its tendency is to unspiritualize every spiritual object — to earth- 
if'ij it, so to speak ; to make it sensuous and tangible. Even iu 
St. Peter's, where the boldest genius of his time, Michael An- 
gelo. has represented God himself hurling the sun and earth 
into existence — this tendency is apparent. The culture of 
humanity is the prime object of Art. Is this effect produced by 
unsphering from the lofty temple of the soul those objects, which 
to be rightly influential, must be spiritual, and by degrading 
them to a niche in a human temple made with hands — temporal 
and not eternal % 

The approach to St. Peter's is imposing. A great circular 
piazza opens before it, surrounded by three hundred and sixty 
large columns, gracefully surmounted by an entablature, upon 
which statues glisten in the sun. Stand, upon the steps of the 
Basilica. The great circle of columnal grandeur bends about 
the high obelisk and the twin fountains. On either side, at right 
angles with the church, are the vaulted pathways, leading to the 
chapels. Upon the left rises the Vatican, with its intricate 
complexity of palaces. The crows, high up among the carving of 
the capitals, are rearing their young, and cawing like a company 
of Frenchmen. The plash of fountains hushes into S abbath si^ 
lence^hfi.jiirjiround.V The colossal figures of St. Peter and St. 
Paul stand guardians' of the place. Turning around — the eight 
huge columns which hide in their shadows other columns, lift 
on high the mighty temple of Catholic Christendom. The jut- 
ting cornice and tracery gracefully hang under niches and over 
windows, in and around which are figures with scrolls, sceptres 
and crowns. Far out in front (for the eye leaps about as if a 
strange spell were upon it)' gleam white in the sun the angles and 
curves of the fine walks. No verdure relieves the extensiveness 
and massiveness of the view. Bass-reliefs, inscriptions, bells and 
clocks, furnish lineaments for the church's countenance of stone. 
As the eye ranges upward, covering the vast expanse of ai-chi- 
tecture, we may well exclaim with Gibbon : " Here is the most 
glorious structtire that ever has been applied to the use of religion." 



ROME, LIVma' AND BEAD. 125 

Upon this spot where we now tread, scarcely a century after 
Christ, an oratory was erected by the Bishop of Rome, to honor 
the place where St. Peter was interred. Here Constantine 
worshipped the cross he saw in the heavens, and bviilt the great 
Basilica. Here pope after pope added adornment to adorn- 
ment, until the finishing genius of Michael Angelo completed the 
structure, by crowning its sublimity with the ever-during beauty 
of the Pantheon. What expense, what labor, what genius has 
been here expended upon a few acres ! Indeed the expense of 
the additions to the pile were so great — extending ov^er the 
reigns of forty-three popes — that the sale of indulgences was 
resorted to for the purpose of meeting it. This resulted in the 
Reformation. At the close of the 17th centui'y the expense 
amounted to $46,800,498 — exclusive of the sacristy, models, 
and mosaics, estimated at $900,000. 

One is staggered which to wonder at — the power that can levy 
such contributions upon the labor of the world, or the genius 
which transforms rougli masses of rock, cragged logs and trees, 
and even the mire on which we tread, into palaces, spires, tem- 
ples, and forms of every variety of beauty and sublimity ! 
Aladdin's lamp was a wonderful instrument in its day. It 
converted stones into gold, and carpeted the earth with velvet 
for the tread of kings and queens. The human mind far ex- 
ceeds its magic power. At the bidding of Mind, this immense 
structure stood unrivalled and alone, — the towering grandeur of 
all time; 

" Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
Since Zion's deso]ation, wiien that He 
Forsook liis former city, what could be 
Of earthly structure in his honor piled 
Of a sublimei' aspect. Majesty, 
Power, glory, strength, and beauty, — all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled!" 

When first I looked upon St. Peter's I confess to a keen 
disappointment. Its size seemed flattened, and its dome insig- 



126 EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

nificant compared to tlie fancy of it I had indulged. No doubt 
the colossal size of the human forms about it, contributed to this 
effect, by giving a false standard of measurement. Indeed, it is 
so immense that the mind is bewildered in its huge details, and 
loses the sense of the immense whole. Byron accounts for the 
same impression, not by the lessening of the pile, but by the 
expansion of the mind under the genius of the spot. The 
church is about 806 feet long. The ti-ansepts from wall to wall 
are 450 feet. The diameter of the cupola is 195 feet, being a 
little larger than the Pantheon. The height of the cross upon 
the cupola from the pave is 435 feet ! 

But how can I paint with indigent ink the interior 1 At 
first sight, as I looked down the vaulted roofs and long nave, 
and up its swelling dome, I felt no holy awe, such as hushed the 
soul into stillness in Westminster and Notre Dame. The 
statues of popes, the paintings of saints, the sacred canopies 
and shrines, the presence of lesser form in its endless variety, 
attracted the attention, and disturbed the aspiration of the soul 
towards the Infinite. The Baldacchino, or grand canopy, cast 
into spiral columns out of the bronze taken from the Pantheon, 
and garlanded with gilded flowers and foliage, stands over the 
grave of St. Peter. The eye swims as it gazes upon it. This 
beautiful object breaks the awe-inspiring impression of the 
dome under which it stands. Over one hundred lamps bui-n 
around it, while below, is a shrine and the kneeling statue of 
Pius VI., by Canova. The concave of the church is ornamented 
with stuccoes and mosaics, while at the further end is the 
apostolic chair in bronze, lifted aloft vmder such a variety of 
ornament as can onl}' be seen, not pencilled. Among the va- 
rious statues is the monument to the Stuarts, by Canova. The 
outcast Royalty of Britain is here entombed in more regal 
state than Westminster could bestow. Tbe gazer is informed, 
by an inscription, that James III., Charles III., and Henry IX., 
Kings of England., here repose ! Some one should forthwith 
advise Macaulay of this large gap in his history. There is 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 127 

certainly one chapter omitted, if this inscription be true. 
Why will men for ever use the memorial of the dead as the 
instrument of lies ? Shakspeare exaggerates but little when he 
says, that there is 

" Ou every grave 



A lying tropliy : and as oft is dumb 

Where dust and damned oblivion is the tomb 

Of honored bones indeed." 

But we will let the exiles of England sleep. Their arro- 
gance no longer tramples upon the necks of our good Puritan 
ancestors. Their monument rises beneath a dome as glorious 
as the highest ambition of their God-anointed heads could 
imagine. 

By the kindness of Mr. Cass, we procured a ticket of ad- 
mission to the Grottc Yatican^ the subterranean chapel, for our 
ladies ; as ladies are excluded therefrom without a special per- 
mit from the Pope. This chapel is a part of the old Basilica, 
which yet stands over the tombs of the early martyrs. The 
original floor is still there, and there, too, is the tomb of St. 
Peter. As we passed it, with our torches and our company of 
priests, we observed before its secluded shrine a solitary monk, 
saying mass. Our guide and the priests dropped in adoration, 
while we stood involuntarily bowing before the strange spec- 
tacle. Around were the graves of the dead. The spectral 
shadows upon the mosaics and bas-reliefs peopled the narrow 
chambers ; while gloom seemed here to linger as if in her own 
dark home. Our breathing grew short and oiar step fearful, 
as we wandered amid this home of departed priesthood. At 
last we emerged again into the nave of the church, with the pray- 
er that our last repose might not be in such a corridor of stone and 
darkness ; but under the pleasant light of heaven, amid the 
beauty of nature, where birds might sing, and in the place 
where afi"ection should prompt and love to linger. 

Having viewed the depth, we could not refrain from visit- 



128 EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

ing the height of St. Peter's. A broad paved spiral stair- 
case leads by gentle ascent to the roof of stone. One might 
easily drive up with horses and carriage. The top would form, 
also, a pleasant drive. On the walls are the names of the sover- 
eigns who have been up to the cupola — a long list. This list 
might be increased considerably, if the American sovereigns were 
added. The roof seems to be a city in itself Upon it are bel- 
fries, domes, houses, and other appendages of a city. Rome 
begins to grow small below. The head grows dizzy as the eye 
dares to descend — but we are not half up. The Pantheon 
stands before us upon the roof, surmounted by the brass ball, 
which seems some two feet in diameter, and into which it is 
said sixteen people may be stowed. Through winding stairs, 
by tugging and resting, and gazing out of the windows, we 
reached the top of the dome ; and walked out into a balcony, 
who.se railing is invisible below, and into the open air some 
400 feet above the city. Below us are the flowering orange trees 
and gardens of the Pope ; far to the south-east, the Coliseum 
and its brother-ruins fling their broken shadows to the earth ; 
still further beyond, under an exquisite web of mist, lie in 
quiet beauty the hills of Tusculum, Viterbo, Tivoli, and the 
chain of Apennines. To the left, old Mount Soracte, of classic 
memory, whitens its top in the sky. Monte Mario relieves its 
baldness by a green summit, nearer to our view. Between, in 
dead long levels, the freshly-mown Campagna spreads its great 
carpet about the seven hills, — the dim blue fringe of which car- 
peting is none other than the Mediterranean, visible in a long 
line upon the left. The birds chirrup among the fragrant gar- 
dens, and fountains endeavor to climb upward, only to curl 
in beauty and murmur their music. The Tiber, seemingly a 
little run, plays awhile amid the foliage, glances, winds here 
and there amid the roofs below, and under the Angelo bridge, 
and then darts away towards the horizon, to mingle its thread 
of yellow in that fringe of blue. 

Can we ascend higher ? Try that perpendicular iron ladder, 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 129 

and follow it upward through that long narrow neck, and you 
are in the ball itself! One of our ladies even dared it. The 
atmosphere was a little tepid to be sure, owing to the proximity 
of the ball to its solar companion. The echo of our voices 
clinked so fearfully on its sounding metal, that — yes — it was 
really fearful. The sense of being so high, worse than the 
sight through the little chink.s, made me feel more indescribably 
queer and qualmy than ever I felt before. The trembling 
knees almost refused the rapid descent, while pespiration drop- 
ped beads from the brow, like Oriental trees their " medicinal 
gum." My second ascent in company was much more pleasant. 
Our guide told us a good story of an obese Frenchman, who, 
the other day, squeezed through the neck and found himself 
puffing in the ringing ball. He illustrated the old Horatian 
fable beautifully ; for he could not take the back-track. He 
was too, " Oh, call it not farf, — oleaginous" to return. There 
he remained between heaven and — earth, half a day, all the 
while dripping like a fountain, or like Falstaff, " larding the 
lean earth," until the profuseness of the perspiration had some- 
what diminished the rotundity of his corporosity, when he de- 
scended from his oven, a sadder and a thinner man ! 

On our return down, we saw the lamps with which St. 
Peter's is illuminated on festal days. Boys are tied in strings 
(like Wethersfield onions), and hung down in great garlands 
along the lamp lines. Three hundred and eighty-two men are 
also on hand to assist in the lighting. Every column, cornice, 
and frieze, and all the details, even to the summit of the cross 
above the ball, are to be lighted. In eight seconds, at a given 
signal, 6,800 golden lights leap into being, and burn against the 
gigantic architecture — a firmament of fire ! 

The sun dial, upon the roof, points to the hour of ten min- 
utes after thirteen ! which is our ten minues after nine. Another 
singularity as to time in Rome is, that at noon a gun is fired, a 
black ball rises over the college, and every bell rings the time. 
It produces quite a startling effect on the stranger. 
6* 



130 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 



8. The Vatican. 



Our visit to the Vatican occupied two clays, and then it was 
but a hui-ried glance at this great repertory of art, learning, 
wealth, and power. We democrats from the land of home-bred 
simplicity, and brick and mortar unadorned, wei'e completely 
confounded by the constant succession of splendors. Here 
are the spoils of Time as well as its trophies, arranged amid 
the museums and libraries, and long — long — galleries. Here 
learning and taste have added building after building, so that 
the appearance of the whole from St. Peter's cupola, is that of 
a long parellelogram of stony fabrics, with squares between, 
wherein are gardens of rare exotics in great urns, together with 
fountains of clear water. Long arbors of boxwood, and high 
impenetrable hedges of living green, spread around the palaces, 
upon which we may look, as we str»ll through the long corridors, 
filled with busts, statues, sarcophagi, and old inscriptions in- 
serted in the walls. To compute the extent of these halls, 
miles might be used. The number of apartments may give 
some idea of its extent. It has eight grand stair cases, 200 
smaller ones, 20 courts, and 4,422 apartments. 

The wonders from Etrusca and Egypt form separate mu- 
seums, and speak an earlier civilization than that of the elder 
Romans. In the cabinets, relieved by porticos, were the choice 
statues of antiquity, some greatly mutilated. We had many 
opportunities of applying the principle ''■ ex pede Hcrcule?n." 
Here were statues of every animal, as well as every variety of 
men and divinities. 

Separate and apart from all others stood the great group of 
the Laocoon. The greatest offspring of the chisel stood before 
us, in his torture dignifying pain, 

"With an immortal's patience blending." 

Oh ! what a clench was that old man's ; what expiring sadness 
upon that young brow, and what speechless, anxious agony upon 



EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 131 

that other ! For two thousand years that " long envenomed 
chain of living links" has wound about the father and his sons, 
awakening the deepest sympathy of the soul, while it illustrates 
the power of the Rhodian sculptors over the passions of man. 

What a contrast to this is the Apollo Belvidere, which is 
near. Light enshrined ; every dignity personified ; Love dei- 
fied ; Beauty, Manliness, and Grenius, encased gracefully in the 
white marble ; all that rivets admiration in the fair, or awakens 
awe in the supernal, stand 

"Starlike around until tliey gather to a God!" 

Raphael's " Transfiguration," which we afterwards saw, could 
not compete for the guerdon beside these marble marvels of an- 
tiquity. The stone has no peer in the canvass, in the highest 
heaven of art. 

It would only weary, to tell our visions of beauty and 
uniqueness, which every where gleamed from niche, ceiling, wall, 
and floor ; throughout library, portico, museum, and cabinet. 
Here were the maps of all Italy, worked in the wall. There, 
the mosaic manufactory, where all the saints and popes are 
starting a new race for immortality in the ^^anels of St. Paul. 
There, the richest tapestry of Gobelins, with the Bible illus- 
trated by a strange order of art. Every where the same im- 
pression is produced, of endless variety, in the mazes of which 
the mind is almost lost, like a child amid a wilderness of foliage 
and beauty. Yet out of all these endless varieties and " bro- 
therly dissimilitudes, arises the goodly and graceful symmetry," 
that speaks the common reason and nature which we all wear 
under God, our Maker. Through manifold phases and turnings 
the mind ascends to that apex of generalization, where LTnity 
kisses heaven and is embathed in its pure light ; where the great- 
est as well as the least obey that common law, whose seat is 
in the bosom of God. 



132 EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 



9. The Pofe at Service. 



Yet one may wander amidst all these magnificent results of 
Art in the Vatican and St. Peter's, yet fail to catch the spirit 
that breathes throughout them. The actors in this splendid 
theatre should be noted, as they move in full costume to fill 
the swelling scene. This was our object upon the first Sunday 
morning in Summer, as we drove toward the piazza of St. Peter's. 
The Pope was to officiate in Sistine Chapel. Our ladies had 
dofted the gaudy-ribboned bonnet and donned the simple black 
veil. We had, according to the rule, put on dress-coats. The 
crowd increases as we drive within the enclosure. Following 
our guide along the straight corridors, and through files of the 
Pope's Swiss guards, dressed in fantastic yellow and black, with 
Turkish pants and long spears, we were ushered by soldiers 
(one of whom valiantly siezed my cane and straw hat and bore 
it away in triumph) into the chapel. The ladies we leave 
seated, looking through great gilded bars, while we pass in 
among Austrian soldiers, Franciscans in their brown robes, and 
a goodly variety of other holy orders. 

While waiting the entrance of His Holiness, the mind can 
find delight in examining the " Last Judgment" of Angelo, 
frescoed upon the wall of the Chapel. Every variety of Hope, 
Doubt, Despair and Beatitude, beam upon us from the figures 
upon the wall. Within a sacred enclosure, over which tip-toed 
curiosity can barely peep, is a green-carpeted floor and tapestry 
hangings, with an altar and a throne. Seats are arranged for 
the Cardinals, who soon begin to pour in, dressed in great red 
gowns and skull caps, attended by servants in purple. After 
bows and crosses, the servants proceed to unroll the trains and 
seat the Cardinals A very hearty array of old Romans they 
seem, with their arms under cover, their gray hair shining, their 
lofty brows and intelligent faces bespeaking good living as well 
study and reflection. Most of them kept up an inaudible prayer. 



HOME, LIVING AND DEAD. I33 

One fine, old, tremblingly fat gentleman seemed to be beyond 
the age of piety, but his habitual prayerfulness still played upon 
his lips. He reminded me of Chaucer's monk, who repeated all 
his terms, 

"That he had learned out of some decree, 
No wonder was, he heard it all the day." 

Directly, buff soldiers, with gilt helmets and drawn swords, 
rush in to guard the door. I thought, at first, that there was a 
sudden insurrection, knowing that in matters of power, as poor 
Pius has learned, " there is but one step from the Capitol to the 
Tarpeian Rock." But no — the choir strike the high notes; the 
doors beyond open, and — " Voila !" the Vicegerent of Grod ap- 
pears in his tiara and cloth of gold ! Around him swarm minis- 
ters of every degree and shade of color. He kneels : the rustle 
of red Cardinals shivers in the hallowed air, and all kneel. Then 
he ascends to the throne — a fine-looking, full-faced man, graceful 
and dignified in his bearing. Power he seems to wear as a 
familiar garment. How graciously he extends his hand to the 
Cardinals, who severally leave their seats, attended by their 
attendants in purple, carrying their trains. Thej', bowing, kiss 
the hand, or, as I was informed, the diamond brilliant upon the 
Pope's ring, as a token of reverence. An inferior order pros- 
trate themselves, and tip their labia at the shoe of His Holi- 
ness, upon which is a cross of silver. In the mean time, seraphic 
music from the Pope's select choir ravishes the ear, while the 
incense titilates the nose. Soon there arises in this chamber of 
theatrical glitter, a plain, unquestioned African, and he utters 
the sermon in facile Latinity, with graceful manner. His dark 
hands gestured harmoniously with the rotund periods, and his 
swart visage beamed with a high order of intelligence. He was 
an Abyssinian. 

What a commentary was here upon our American prejudices. 
The head of the great Catholic Church, surrounded by the ripest 
scholars of the age, listening to the eloquence of the despised 



134 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

negro ; and thereby illustrating to the world the common bond 
of brotherhood which binds the human race. I confess that, at 
first, it seemed to me a sort of theatrical mummery, not being 
familiar with such admixtures of society. But, on reflection, I 
discerned in it the same influence which, during the dark ages, 
conferred such inestimable blessings on mankind. History 
records, that from the time when the barbarians overran the 
Western Empire to tlie time of the revival of letters, the influ- 
ence of the Church of Rome had been generally favorable to 
science, to civilization, and to good government. Why 1 Because 
her system held then, as it holds now, all distinctions of caste 
as odious. She regards no man, bond or free, white or black, 
as disqualified for the priesthood. This doctrine has, as Macau- 
lay develops in his introductory chapter to his English history, 
mitigated many of the worst evils of society ; for where race 
tyi-annized over race, or baron over villein, Catholicism came 
between them, and created an aristocracy altogether independent 
of race or feudalism, compelling even the hereditary master to 
kneel before the spiritual tribunal of the hereditary bondman. 
The childhood of Europe was jjassed under the guardianship of 
priestly teachers ; who taught, as the scene in Sistine Chapel of 
an Ethiop addressing the proud rulers of Catholic Christendom 
teaches, that no distinction is regarded at Rome, save that which 
divides the priest from the people. 

The sermon of the Abyssinian, in beautiful print, was distrib- 
uted at the door. I bring one home as a trophy and as a sou- 
venir of a great truth which Americans are prone to deny or 
contemn. 

I had seen the successor of Hildebrand and the tenth Leo. 
I had seen the head of that anti-Christ which Luther fought, 
with so much rancor and heroism. I had seen the visible im- 
personal power, which in former times had made Henry the IV. 
stand for days bare-headed under the blasts of an Apennine win- 
ter, praying admission to humble himself; which in the per- 
son of Alexander III., whose tomb we saw, placed its foot on 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. I35 

the neck of the haughty Frederick, with the expression, " Super 
%asindeni et basiliscum amhalahisP 

Glitter and pomp greater than what I had seen, could not sur- 
round the human form. — Homage such as could only be shown 
to the representative of the Saviour, was here exhibited ; but 
oue could not help feeling that the mighty heart of Popery as it 
once throbbed, was not here. Whether there be only one more 
niche in St. Peter's for Pius None to fill, and thus end the long line 
of the Holy Fathers, I did not observe ; but this I did feel, 
that in Italy and in Europe, the people had become alive to the 
compact of tyranny between the Church and State. To borrow 
the biting sarcasm of a Westminster Reviewer of last Janu- 
ary ; '• Even the most superstitious have had their faith terribly 
shaken, and have seen the infallible successor of St. Peter igno- 
miniously kicked out of his apostolic chair by his own children, 
and ignominiously kicked back again by a French army. Heaven 
had no thunder to hurl destruction at the impious republicans ; 
and neither virgin nor saints were in the clouds arrayed in 
their best clothes to give honor to his return. His exit and his 
restoration were both vulgar, and the poor old man is forcibly held 
in his uncomfortable seat by his masters in Paris, Vienna, and St. 
Petersburg, trembling every inch of him, lest the whole machine 
should again be blown to shivers, and he himself he snuffed out 
like a candle that is no longer loanted because daylight is coyne?'' 
The weakness of the pontificate does not spring from any 
peculiar corruption such as formerly severed the best part of 
Germany and Switzerland from its influence. Children no longer 
sing, as they did in Melancthon's time ; 

" Of all foul spots the world around, 
The foulest spot in Rome is found." 

That weakness springs from the increased light of the age. 
The holy wicks only shone awful and potential in the dim twi- 
light of ignorance ; but then they were the only lights a mis- 
guided world possessed. Pius is well meaning enough. His 



136 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

countenance bespeaks a quiet and tender heart. He lacks deci- 
sion of character. He fears to take a step that will end disas-^ 
trously to the people. Let me illustrate by an incident that 
occurred the other day. Some French soldiers wei'e stilettoed 
a few nights Since, apparently for smoking, which the Italians 
detest. Some sis Italians were arrested and condemned to 
death. The Pope, as it was in his power, reprieved them. The 
French Commandant sent Pope Pius word, that if he were 
not permitted to execute the sentence he would resign and 
go home ; thereby intimating that difficulty would follow. The 
Pope timidly yielded ; and the six men, who are now in the Cas- 
tle of St. Angelo, are to be shot. 

This state of things cannot last. Secret societies bound 
together by sacred oaths, and resolved for republicanism, are 
known to exist here. They comprehend the greatest part of the 
people. Silence — which seems as " harmless as the rose's breath 
to a distant passenger" is the result of secrecy, and betokens, in 
fact, the hushed breath of that liberty which, as Grattan has it, 
will not die with the puophet, but survive him ! 

What reflections ensue upon leaving these vestibules of Pow- 
er and Splendor? Do they humiliate the poor and humble 
wanderer from the distant shores of the Western world ? Thank 
God. No! Under our own//T6' sky, we have a temple of wor- 
ship, whose pillars stand upon no slavish foundation, and whose 
dome was reared by no traffic in sin. Jewels we have, sown 
every dawn upon the fertile earth, well worth whole satrapies of 
power ; tapestry dyed in sunsets of gorgeous glory ; and forms 
of freemen — " lords of the lion heart and eagle eye" — every one ^ 
a Pope, — moving in individual independence — accountable to God 
alone ! And as we take a last look at the gorgeous interior of . 
St. Peter's Basilica — at the vast fabric, with its vistas and aisles 
opening on every side — as high thoughts lift the soul upward to its 
fount — as the rich light streams in, through and upon dim reli- 
gious forms — as we feel the blest effluence from God. — half lost in 
the contamination of man — as the idea of Eternity grows upon 



HOME, LIVING AND DEAD. I37 

the soul with the eye moving upward and upward within the 
swelling dome ; still — still., the home of the loved and the free 
land of our birth is ever the prayer and the burden of the full 
heart. 

10. — The Cardinals and Politics. 

It was a wonder to my unsophisticated mind how these Car- 
dinals here, were supported in their stately pomp. I wondered 
no longer when I learned some of the secret springs which 
political churchmen have the opportunity and the will to touch. 
You may see their carriages rolling by, adorned with arms and 
liveried servants. They live in sumptuous style in splendid 
palaces. When elected, a salary of about four thousand dollars 
is attached to their office, as well as the tribute of some foreign 
Bishopric or ecclesiastical establishment. They are the sources 
of power, and this affords them an immense revenue. With 
very few exceptions they are said to be profligate and corrupt ; 
and this they are, without the mitigation which the warm blood 
of youth and ignorance might furnish. 

The prominent cardinal is named, I believe, Antonelli. He 
was formerly a Bandit, and condemned as such. Gregory XVI. 
found in him, a shrewd, ingenious, gifted mind, and attached 
him to his household. He rose rapidly in the priesthood, and 
now exercises the controlling power in these States. The Pope 
has more heart than sense. He is a kind, generous, tender- 
hearted old gentleman ; exceedingly fallible in judgment, and 
weak in decision of purpose. He has qualities which fit him for 
the head of a church, but not for the head of a troublesome civil 
organization. He has been so keenly reproached for bringing 
all the trouble of the Revolution, by his liberality, that he has 
committed to others political matters, and now concerns himself 
simply with the affairs of the church. If he could only dissever 
the civil from the papal power, he would give Popery a tremen- 
dous influence which it now has not, throughout the world ; / 



138 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

especially in the United States, where the democratic principle 
can brook no constraint from any other influence. 

What I have said and shall say about the Catholic religion 
at Rome, has reference simply to its connection with the state ; 
which unholy alliance, ever fraught with corruption to both, 
whether at Geneva, at Canterbury, or in Rome, must be depre- 
cated by every American who is proud of his own Constitution 
^nd who loves its liberal principles. 

What I have said in relation to matters here, might well be 
by any intelligent American Catholic. Grod forbid that a 

^le blot of intolerance should blacken my poor pages. I 
have studied with too nice a heed the human heart, and its rela- 
tions to man and to God, ever to color facts or aggravate preju- 
dice, where conscience is the arbiter of conduct, and God alone 
^ its Judge. { I have remarked, too, with pride, the great differ- 
ence between the Catholic religion at home and abroad. As 
well accuse Protestantism of the absurdities of the Shakers, as 
Catholicism of some of the absurdities I have seen practised 
here in the churches. CliurcJtcs? Not so. Only one church, 
that of St. Augustine, and called the church of the common 
people, was the scene of what in America would be called, or 
would seem, idolatry. We entered the church to see its singu- 
lar bedizemnent. The pillars were hung with silver ornaments 
as high up as you can see. The church was darkened ; only 
lighted by candles, whose glare made it glitter like a hall of 
flaming diamond. Some say the silver and jewels are bogus 
and paste. Of that I am not able to speak. It would be no 
marvel if they were all genuine. The prime object in the 
church, is a lai-ge image .of the Virgin, holding the Son. It 
occupies a niche near the door. It is decked out in all the 
beads, tinselry and gaudiness of an Oriental Indian Princess, 
while the environment is one blaze of jewelled light. Neck, 
arms and shoulders, are hung with necklaces and bracelets. 
The figure of the child was quite encased in th"e glittering splen- 
dor. Lights burn before the altar continually. Around this 



EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. I39 

altar, are numbers bowing and crossing ; while every moment 
some one passes up to the image, and wiping its silver foot, 
kisses the toe once, sometimes twice, — crosses, and retires to give 
place to another. While we stood there, perhaps five minutes 
at least, a dozen devotees performed this ceremony. The richly 
dressed lady enters, and with lace handkerchief wipes the sacred 
foot, kisses it, and is followed by a beggar in tatters, whose 
sleeve and lip answer the same ofl&ce. And yet, as we look 
around and see the pious, upturned, happy faces of the worship- 
pers, seeming to be gladdened by the radiance of the Virgin, as 
they repeat their Ave Marias ; as we remember that from child- 
hood these habitudes have been forming, and as we recall the 
tremendous power of religious emotion, we cannot but sympa- 
thize with the devotee, who seeks the intercession of the sweet 
Virgin to save from sin and woe. 

Far otherwise is our regard toward the pampered Cardinal of 
Rome, if I am to believe what comes to me upon the best authority. 
Let me give you a fact. During the Revolution, our Charge 
had access to many places which upon ordinary occasions were 
barred. In one of these penetralias of power, he read, in Latin, 
a law by which if any one, dying, signified to the attendant Car- 
dinal his wish to leave him his estate, all that was necessary 
upon the death of the person, to obtain the estate, was for the 
Cardinal to proceed to the Sistine Chapel and make oath to 
the bequest, when all other wills were set aside, and the Swiss 
Guards were ordered to put him in possession. The Cardinal, 
at the dying hour, had the power to command all out of the 
presence of the dying man. You may thus see what a handle 
of iniquity is this statute. Well may it be kept close. " But is 
it ever put in execution V Listen ! The head of one of the 
oldest of the noble families of Rome, named Fraujapanelli, was 
about to die. His friend, the Cardinal (I cannot spell his name), 
called to " see him off," and administer the holy wafer. He 
had before solemnly disposed of his immense property among 
his children ; the greater share to his eldest son, who had mar- 



140 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD, 

ried an America/t kidy, and the rest of his estate satisfactorily. 
He died at night. The next morning the Swiss Guards put the 
Cardinal into the family palace, and into all the other posses- 
sions, and the family out upon the world penniless. This was 
just before the Revolution. The eldest son became a Eepub- 
lican and died in defence of the city. His widow is pressing 
her suit in the ecclesiastical courts, but without hope. The 
court is made up of Cardinals or Priests, who are without soul 
or sympathy. Not having families, they know no tender ties of 
father or husband. They sit in frigid iceberg dignity, in the 
large marble palaces, and never warm except in the lust of 
power or profligacy. Yet the only tribunals of Rome are con- 
stituted of such. They have no record. They have not even 
that respectable appendage of a Court, termed lawyers. Bribery 
is their argument, and corruption the conclusion of their jus- 
tice. We may truly say, that to press a suit in that tribunal, 
would be to appeal to sullen stones. Here, if any where on 
earth, the " learned pate ducks to the golden fool." The Engli.sh 
chancery is beatitude to litigation in such a place. 

I hope the Pope will create no Cardinals for America. It 
was rumored that Bishop Hughes was to have a hat. The ill 
success attending the Wiseman experiment in England will 
prevent Papacy from creating any Cardinals in Protestant 
countries. His Holiness, who seems to fancy our Charge here 
sufficiently to consult with him, informed him that there was 
no foundation for the rumor of an American Cardinal. Mr. 
Cass rather advised him against the step ; although he ex- 
plained how perfectly easy the matter would be received in our 
tolerant country. 

Mr. Cass trims his diplomatic sails very neatly, and has 
run between Scylla and Charybdis without so much as a single 
leak. While he explained to Mazzini and his friends the 
operation of republican institutions, and loaned them our con- 
stitutions, he protected Cardinals and Priests in his house from 
popular fury. He has been well repaid for the latter services. 



EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 141 

He showed us two Bibles which he received the day before yes- 
terday, one in manuscript, one thousand one hundred years old, 
illuminated on 'parchment ! The other in print, being the first 
edition of the Bible in 1440. The former was presented by a 
monk from the convent of Mt. Sinai in Egypt, and the latter by 
a priest from the monastery of Vallambrosa, near Florence. He 
afforded protection to these priests during the siege. Poor fellows ! 
He could not persuade them to sleep in his bed, but they would 
sleep under it, in humiliation and fear. The first Bible is one 
of the rarest things of the kind known. One of the capital letters 
was under process of illumination it is said for a year. No one 
but an old cloistered, patient monk, could have made it. The 
Vatican boasts of but one more ancient than the above manu- 
script Bible. It is a Bible in the capitals of the sixth century ; 
but it does not compare with this, as a specimen. The Secretary 
of State offered $S00 for it, to place it in the Vatican. 

Priests meet us on every hand. Rome is thronged with 
them. As I write long processions of monks in black and white 
crape, and in brown robes, move under our window, chanting 
for the dead body which they bear. Some rich man has died, 
and left a paul a piece to these poor monks, to sing his soul out 
of purgatory. 

I passed upon the Corso one of a fraternity composed of the 
noble and rich, completely hid in a rough sack, with two holes 
in it for his eyes. He was on a mission of mercy, begging for 
the poor and afflicted. It was one of the peculiar sights of the 
Catholic metropolis. A procession of similar penitents, guarded 
by soldiers with lighted candles, passed yesterday up to St. 
Peter's. 

A brisk correspondence has been lately going on between 
the Papal and Austrian ministers, in relation to the troops of 
Austria. Austria had quartered in the States of the Church 
30,000 men at an expense of over $100. 000 per month. The 
Papal Secretary wrote to the Austrian, that at the present, cir- 
cumstances and the budget demanded a reduction of the troops 



142 EOMh\ LIVING AND DEAD. 

to ten thousand. The Austrian replied, that the present pos- 
ture of affairs required the presence of all. The Secretary re- 
joined that the Papacy were the judges of that. The matter 
has been left to the arbitrament of the French minister, who 
will certainly side with the Papacy, and then look out for squalls 
in the camps. Austria cannot yield her influence at Rome. 
France is keenly jealous of hers ; and it is shrewdly suspected, 
in more places than in England, that her policy is to colonize 
Rome with French, and reduce the Eternal City to a dependency 
upon herself And so they play the game — knocking Popery, 
as boys do a ball at " two-hole cat," between them. I would 
like to remain here a little longer to see the sweetness of this 
union of Church and State in other phases. 

Two cases illustrative of the nature of this government 
have come under my eye. We found our Minister yesterday 
in hot water over the case of a lady from America, who was 
about to be imprisoned by the police, because her villainous 
servant had run up bills which she would not pay. A servant 
at the Hotel, Dominichino Pollano, who is a Piedmontese and 
speaks English, just received a passport to leave Rome in three 
days — why ? He was a Republican. We intend to ' annex ' 
him to our company, and take him to a land of liberty. 

How beautiful and benignant seems our own Constitution, 
/ which holds aloft from the power of priest, whether in surplice 
,' or white neckerchief, the Palladium of our liberty. We had 
, Lord Baltimore and Roger Williams, early in America, while 
; in Europe, contemporaneously, persecution wielded the sword 
, of the magistrate, and even gloried in indiscriminate massacre. 
L By the way, that reminds me of the settlement of a ques- 
tion, long mooted by the Protestant and Catholic reviews. 
The former contended that the Pope had a coin struck in 
honor of the massacre of St. Batholomew. It was denied 
strenuously by humane Catholics. Last week, Mr. Cass found 
at the Papal mint, one of the coins with symbols upon it, re-V 
presenting the Destroying Angel vindicating God's church. 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 143 

Far better were it, if such, illustrations of human depravity 
were always as rare as that long questionable coin. Even in 
this little squib theological about a coin, we see the greatest 
passions of mankind in the arena. One side is ready to be- 
lieve all wi'ong, the other all right. From opposite sides they 
approach human nature ; 

" And would have fought even to the death to attest 
The quality of the metal whicli they saw." 

Between all extremes, few look for truth in the middle ; yet 
there it lies all golden in its neglected placer. Men move over 
it for centuries, too proud to stoop down and winnow, with the 
purity of reason, the rich ingot from the dirt and dross. 

11. Palace of Nero and the Church of Lateran. 

The palace of Nero, which we first visited yesterday, lies 
beyond the Coliseum, in the southern part of Rome, amidst the 
arches of triumph, and the I'uined aqueducts. We pass to it, 
down that sacred way, which Horace was accustomed to walk, 
meditans fiugarum^ he did not know what. We did not follow 
his example. These scenes were not trifles to us ; but stern 
mementoes of fallen might. 

The custodian, who is ever ready when a few pauls are to be 
made, lighted his torches ; and we began to descend through 
those chambers wherein dwelt the worst of men, and the most 
brutal of Emperors. The rubbish and dust had been removed 
from the damp cool vaults ; and by our torches we could discern 
u2>on the faded walls the ancient paintings, and beneath our feet 
splendid mosaics. Nero's " Corridor of Thought" was shown us, 
where the fell monster was accustomed to aggravate his hellish 
deeds by meditation. We were shown his old bath-rooms. 
These were all filled up by Titus, who built a palace above 
them. The caterpillars and lizards abounded in every point 
where light could penetrate. It was in this place that the famous 
statue of Laocoon was found. 



144 EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

How strange is it. that all these ancient sites can be deter- 
mined with even more certainty than the corners and monuments 
of our quarter sections. Not strange either, when I remmnber 
that I saw to-day, at the Capitol, inserted in the walls of the 
old Senate House, a great number of stone tablets, or plats of 
the ancient city, which were dug up in a perfect state ; and by 
means of which, one point being given, all may be determined. 

The money of princes and nobles has been prodigally ex- 
pended in excavating and disinterring ; so that the floors of most 
of the ancient temples have been reached, and something con- 
firmatory of their identity has been found. The Roman villas, 
the palaces and the Vatican, abound in inscriptions and monu- 
ments dug from the various structures of antiquity. 

We went to the Basilica of St. John Lateran, farther out to 
the southeast. This is the oldest Christian church, and takes 
precedence even of St. Peter*s. Constantine founded it. It 
contains some precious relics. It ought to, as it is over fifteen 
hundred years old. While the monks were chanting under the 
lighted candles, we looked at the colossal marble statues of the 
Apostles ; were shown the same table upon which the last supper 
was taken ; the stone upon which the four soldiers cast lots ; the 
broken pillars of the temple ; the impression of the Saviour's 
feet when he appeared to St. Peter, to warn him of his approach- 
ing death ; the well of the woman of Samaria, with some crosses (?) 
on it ; the slab under which the Saviour stood to measure his 
height ; and a hole in a board made by the miraculous fall of a 
consecrated wafer, from the hand of one who doubted the real 
presence ! " Can such things be, and overcome us like a summer 
cloud, without our special wonder." I had the audacity, lawyer- 
fashion, to cross-examine one of the monks as to the identity of 
the relics. A seraphic smile of pity for my incredulity broke 
over his Italian visage, as he assured me, that there was no 
question as to the authenticity of these marvels. The vault of 
this church is gilt with the first gold brought by Spain from 
Peru, and gleams finely from the lofty ceiling. 



ROME, LIVING AND BEAD. I45 

• After visiting the sacristy, we emerged again into the region 
of ruins ; in which men in long gowns were sweating under loads 
of hay, raising it aloft among the chambers of ancient power. 
My risibles were excited by a strange-looking set of little trot- 
ters, over which was a load of hay, a man, and behind a boy. 
The animal was the patient donkey ; about the size of a good 
dog. He does most of the work here. I noticed that the wheat 
harvest had already begun, although it is about the first of June, 
and Rome is farther north than Ohio. 

I never saw such a collection of lassitudinous mortality as 
lay. about noon, under the shadow of the wine shops near the 
Tiber. Some were prone and asleep upon the soft side of a 
marble slab, with, very likely, an ancient pillar for a pillow. 
Some hung their unshaven faces and uncut heads upon their 
breasts — pictures of the last Romans ! 

12. The Capitol and the Tarpeian Rock. 

After examining various ruins, we again ascended Capitol 
hill, through the forum ; and began our examination of the fine 
collection of antiques, pictures, sculptures and frescoes. The 
buildings on the Capitol piazza were designed by Michael An- 
gelo. Like most of the present buildings, they are so built, as 
to include a part of the old buildings, upon whose sites they are 
erected. We first entered the senate-i-oom of old Rome. The 
temple of Jupiter stood here. Its pillars, however, are now to 
be seen adorning numerous churches. The battle pieces illus- 
trating Roman history gleam from the wall. Laws, written 
upon marble, and from which Rienzi demonstrated the ancient 
popular rights of Roman citizens, are inlaid upon the walls of 
the staircases. The busts of the Emperors and of the philoso- 
phers are separately congregated. Chambers are set apart in 
good tas^ " for statues of particular classes, among which is the 
splendid colleciion of Canova's busts. In one of the rooms we 
found the famous bronze wolf, a monument of early art, which 
has given rise to many learned disquisitions. It was found un- 



146 y.vvj//;, LIVING AND DEAD. 

der the rubbish of the Capitol. Cicero and Virgil have rendered 
it classic in Latin ; and Byron has given to its honor, one of his 
rich stanzas, which I read to the old animal, charging her to 

" Guard her immortal cubs, nor her fond charge forget." 

Komulus and Remus are drawing from her kindness the milk of 
conquest. One of her legs is torn by lightning, by which she 
has been recognised as the thunder-stricken foster-mother of the 
babes. 

Paintings from the finest masters allure the eye, but their 
number renders it impossible to describe, or even to remember 
them. The celebrated ' Hope,' by Guido, is here. A fine copy 
of it attracted our attention, and we succeeded in obtaining it. 
Passing through the hall of bronzes, glancing at the colossal and 
miniature forms of gods and heroes thick as autumnal leaves on 
every side, we are at last ushered into the room of the " Dying 
Gladiator." It is not alone immortalized by its perfections of 
form, attitude and expression, but by the touching pathos of 
Byron's description. It is a wounded man^ dying. This idea 
is written in every lineament. No one can meditate upon the 
image, without a feeling of melancholy, even tearful. The pos- 
ture is so graceful, yet so gently yielding to the languor of 
Death, that all nature seems to have been invoked by the artist, 
to give unity and expression to his idea. 

" He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to Death, but conquers agony." 

A nobler idea could not be more beautifully carved. It is 
the highest attainment of that Art, which would give to Soul, 
the supremacy over the marble as well as over pain itself ! This 
image is well associated in our minds with the grandeur of the 
Coliseum — that glorious pile wherein gladiatorial strength and 
brutal cruelty met so fatally and so frequently, and where the 
patience of heavenly martyrdom shone resplendent in the agony 
of Death. 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. I47 

Down through dirty streets, out of whose high windows 
clothes are drying, we pass to the Tarpeian Rock ! An old wo- 
man, in a big straw hat, answers our bell. We pass into a garden 
of flowers and fig-trees. Far down the yellow waters of the Ti- 
ber, not so large as our own Muskingum, wind under a slight 
scarf of mist, while on the left, beyond those great piles of mas- 
sive ruins, known as the baths of Caracalla, and between them 
and the blue, but dim hills of distant Frescati, sweeps the Cam- 
pagna. We approach the precipice, " whence the Traitoi-'s leap 
cured all ambition." It was some seventy feet in height. It 
consists of a mass of volcanic tufa. But it is greatly filled up 
now. Beneath us are the crockery roofs of little houses. The 
rocks, like most of the ruins, are terraced off and used for raising 
vegetables. Where the great criminals of Rome received their 
punishment, a few old women, with knitting needles at play, 
guard a wooden door. We plucked a few flowers as souvenirs of 
this remarkable locality. 

13. Graves of Shelley and Keats. 

We should not forget our visit to the temple of Bacchus, 
which was a preface to our tenth day's experience in Rome. 
While looking at the strange wine-jugs and mosaics, we were 
compelled to listen to the clucking of frightened chickens and 
the gobble of unromantic turkeys. We saw where the Horatii 
and Curatii fought, and we threaded the great halls of Cara- 
calla's baths, in which large numbers of peasants were making 
hay, amid ruined walls. Here SheCley used to wander and 
clamber, while he composed his " Prometheus." That noble poem 
was chiefly written upon what he called, from its magnitude, the 
mountainous ruins of Caracalla, and among the flowery glades and 
thickets of odoriferous blossoming trees, which are extended in 
every winding labyrinth iipon its immense platforms and dizzy 
arches suspended in the air. The bright blvie sky of Rome, and 
the effect of the vigorous awakening spring, and the new life with 



148 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

which it drenches the spirit even to intoxication, he says, were 
the inspiration of the drama. 

Alas for poor Shelley ! Rome was to him the scene of a 
sadder drama, in the hist act of which, the drapery of the life he 
so earnestly dedicated to Beauty, wrrts dropped for ever. We vis- 
ited his burial-place in the old English grave-yard. We found 
the " cors cordium" engraven with his name, and the verses which 
symbolized his change " into something rich and strange," — upon 
a plain, fiat, almost black marble slab. A few tall cypresses 
wave above it, while near and almost covering it, is an old ruin 
above the wall. The snails and caterpillars lazily crawl over tlie 
memorial. Near it, is a proud monument to some Englishman, 
killed in hunting over the Campagna. Around, are graceful 
stones and elegant monuments to the unknown, as far eclipsing 
the humble slab of Shelley, as his name does theirs. Chajilets 
hang on theirs. None on his. No flowers decorate the spot, 
where the heart of Shelley sleeps from its fitful throbbing. 
The wind moans piteously in the funereal cypress above him. 
Joy seems to hover over every other grave. Neat box-wood 
hedges surround other stones. Even the great pyramid of Caius 
Cestus upon the right, is decorated with green and fiowers. 
But the narrow home of Shelley's heart is bare and fiowerless, 
black and gloomy. Can it be that this apparent neglect springs 
from prejudice against the young skeptic Shelley? Is the 
grave of him who wrote " Queen Mab" to be slighted, and shall 
no flower grow over that heart that sang the " hymn to intellect- 
ual beauty ?" Ye birds that charmed so sweetly the soul of 
poetry in Shelley living, have ye no carols for his repose ? Yes, 
yes — before we can leave the spot, or brush the tear from the 
eye, a blithe spirit, bird-shaped — but 

" Bird thou never wert — " 

with the gush of melody such as Shelley's own sky-lark car- 
ried up to the gates of heaven from her dell of dew, began a 



EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 149 

soug of rare music from the heart of the cypress, relieved the 
sombre gloom of his tomb and kindled i-apture in the soul! 

Plucking a twig of cypress, we passed into the other grave- 
yard, where the body of John Keats lies. The yard is grassy, 
surrounded by and surmovititing old Roman streets. No trees 
shade the Mnall upright marble which tells so sadly of him, whose 
name was not writ in water. A few poppies and yellow flowers, 
emblematic of his " Sleep and Poesy," grew from the sunken 
mould. A short inscription told of the bitterness of his critics 
and the sensibility of his heart. But we feel that the fine Gre- 
cian soul of Keats lingers not about this resting-place of his 
mortal remains. Doth it not burn wdiere Shelley saw it through 
the inmost vale of heaven ? 

" The soul of Adonais like a star 
Beacons from the abode where the eternal are." 

We leave the graves of Shelley and Keats with a mournful 
step. The place of their repose, amidst the relics of Roman 
gloiy ; the similarity of their genius and destiny, and the com- 
panionship they bear in the neglect of their countrymen, make 
their resting-place the most interesting tombs in the world. 
Immortality more fadeless than marble, has placed their image 
in its Pantheon of poetry ! 

The church of St. Sebastian contains nothing in itself won- 
derful. We visited it for the subterranean catacombs, which ex- 
tend (incredible as it may seem), twenty miles around and be- 
neath Rome. A brown-clad, red-nosed, cross-eyed, Franciscan lit 
our torches, and we descended with him into these receptacles 
of the dead. After winding where the old thieves, of which 
Cicero speaks, were accustomed to hide, and where the ancient 
Christians also were concealed, we were at last relieved by day- 
light. I am not partial to such underground promenades, with 
tallow candles and a sinister priest. Here was once the tombs 
of St. Peter and St. Paul. We returned home past the per- 
fect little temple of Vesta, near the Tiber ; gazed into the light 



150 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

yellow stream, wondered at the self-regulating fishing-net, moved 
by the water, a Yankee-Romanism ; passed through the region 
of cobblers — all at work out doors, and as queer a group as ever 
I saw ; noted the babies, whose little heads peeped out of great 
bundles of swaddling-cloths, looking like infantile live mummies, 
under manifold wrappages ; turned our eyes on the numerous 
shrines which lined the different ways ; mingled with priests in 
black broad brims, and with French soldiers ; saw the famous 
arch of Janus, over 2,500 years old, running 300 yards to the 
Tiber, and full of crystal water from Egeria, which the poor 
were carrying away for its virtue ; and with our mosaics, our 
flowers, our memories and wonderments, we sought repose in the 
hotel. 

14. The Paul, and the Palaces. 

The paul (a small piece of money equivalent to our dime) is 
a potent agent in Rome. It has magic. Prince Arthur's horn 
could hardly do more, as an " Open Sesame " to the portals of 
beauty and antiquity here. What Spenser says of the horn, we 
may as truly say, with little alteration, of the paul ; 

" No gate 80 strong, no lock so firm and fast, 
But with lis jinglmg noise flew open quite or brast." 

The palaces of the Pope and of the nobility, the churches, 
the tombs, the baths, the villas and the temples, — every thing in 
Rome opens with the palm which clasps the paul. Whetlier it is 
the dark rooms where Nero meditated his cruelty to Christians, 
and Mecjenas his kindness to poets ; whether it is in the old 
church of St. John Latcran, which Constautine founded, or the 
temple of Bacchus, now adorned with an hundred paintings of 
martyrs in misery ; whether the Tarpeian rock, at which the trai- 
tor trembled ; whether it is Saint Sebastian with its gloomy cat- 
acombs, or its neighbor, St. Paul, about to boast the most splen- 
did pillars of alabaster the world ever saw ; whether the grounds 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 151 

where Keats and Shelley lie in their silent homes, — even at 
the Capitol itself, where dignity in the person of the old Roman 
Senators, more potent than arms, beat back the invading Goths, 
— in every place of pride, power and antiquity, the obliging 
Italian, more courteous than the Frenchman, bows you an en- 
trance, and gracefully takes your — pauls ! Saint Paul — not 
Saint Peter, should be the presiding saint of Rome. No one 
can complain that his orisons are not answered with such inter- 
cession. Let it be said, to the eternal honor of the eternal city, 
that among its characteristics is an eternal opening of galleries, 
villas and palaces, and an eternal outlay of pauls therefor. 

A few pauls opens for us the — palace of the Cassars ! Shak- 
speare, in the person of Hamlet if I remember rightly (I have 
no pocket editions along), made imagination trace the noble dust 
of Caesar stopping the bung-hole of a beer barrel. Shakspeare 
did not see the reality of the Cajsarean humility. We felt it, 
as we trampled on the sacred dust of the imperial palaces, for 
a paul apiece. We marched over the grounds on which Augus- 
tus built ; over the houses of Cicero, Hortensius, and Claudius, 
which Tiberius increased, to which Nero added his golden house 
and Titus his beautiful palace ; trampling amid the cypress and 
rose walks, ilex, grape-vines and red flowering pomegranates, peas 
and beans, and over arch reared on arch, and choked up vaults, 
in which midnight keeps perpetual silence ; and around all which 
creeping vines and yellow flowers cling, — and all comprising 
about a mile and a half in circuit — for the which we paid — two 
pauls ! Royalty in ruins is cheap. Royalty in splendor will be 
cheaper than that, in the "good time." This palace is on the 
Palatine hill. The temple of Apollo was formerly connected 
with it. A very singular Chinese house, built by Mr. Mills, 
who " owns the fee " to the palace, is the prominent object above 
the ruins. Among other places of interest we were shown by 
our guide Stefano, the bath where Seneca bled to death. The 
compartments of this palace are immense. Villas and gardens 
spread out over them on every side : yet the position is promi- 



152 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

nent even now. From almost any part one may range in vision 
far to the south, from the Coliseum, the Campagna, the p^'ramid 
of Cestius, the Sepulchre of Metella, even to the Albanian and 
Tusculan hills. Below us — far below, are the Farnese Gardens, 
elegantly laid off. Under us, wherein were enacted scenes of 
power, whose effect flashed from the Thames to the Danube, you 
may find peasants in long coarse shirts, sweating under the hot 
hay which they are lugging into the stables ! Fortune turns her 
ever-shifting wheel. — the king goes down, the peasant up ! 

15. Fountain of Egeria. 

How refreshingly different in fact and association is the 
fountain of Egeria, which we visited shortly after. Through 
freshly-mowed fields of hay, over gentle undulations, and under 
cordial umbrage of orchard trees, we found our way into the vale 
of Numa's nymph. Turning around a hill, and passing down, 
we stand pleased to hear the dripping and gushing of water. 
Farther along, and we see under an overhanging hill of foliage 
and flowers, the classic fountain. Its presiding goddess is broken, 
but her reclining form is still visible. Stone paves surround 
her, upon which the lucid lymph gushes and sprays. Of course 
we drank the water. We would not show the least disrespect 
to the spirit of Nature, which Numa quafi"ed in such glorious 
goblets at the hands of the nymph, and from the influence of 
which Rome received her first great impulse. The eternal 
" ruh-a-duh'ViVB^'' of the French soldiery reminds me, as I write, 
for the hundredth time, that the people who stole the female 
Sabines, and respected Numa, have most wretchedly deteriorated. 

While in Egeria's pleasant vicinage, which brings Ohio to 
mind at every step, we might describe Metella's tomb, so cele- 
brated by Byron's stanzas. You know how sweetly and touch- 
ingly he puts the queries about her incognito as to character, 
wondering who she was — "the lady of the dead" — whether she 
died young in beauty, with the hectic light upon her cheek ; or 



EOM£, LIVING AND DEAD. I53 

old — surviving all her kindred ; and winding up with the unsat- 
isfactory conclusion — 

"Thus much alone Ave know — Metella died, 
The wealthiest Roman's wife. 
Behold his love or pride!" 

A conspicuous tomb, ivy-garlanded, 70 feet in diameter, solid 
with walls 25 feet through — it has stood stronger than the for- 
tresses of power, for nineteen centuries ! 

16. The Pantheon. 

You must pardon my omitting many lesser beauties, for the 
Pantheon is the central orb around which all revolve, and by 
which they all shine. But who is not familiar with the Pan- 
theon ? Eighteen centuries ago it was described with admira- 
tion. Fire, pillage, flood and rain have wasted their efforts in 
vain. Its beauty seems destined to be a glory for ever. So 
perfect are its proportions, that Pagan and Christian, Greek and 
Vandal, alike found in it the spirit of beauty, which is common 
to all Grod's creatures. Hence its singular preservation. It is 
only 143 feet in diameter, and 143 feet high, The portico is 
composed of sixteen columns of oriental granite, with capitals 
and bases of Greek marble. Each column is about 50 feet high. 
The great bronze doors speak of classic times. The interior of 
the temple is a rotunda, supporting a dome one half of the 
height, or 7I| feet. Niches surround, which Michael Angelo 
gracefully converted from places for Pagan deities into places 
for saints and martyrs. Only one of the old pieces of statuary 
remains — an ancient Vestal, now bedizened with the frippery 
of jewels, and answering as the presiding saint of a shrine, before 
which numbers bow in silent adoration. The dome rises majes- 
tically, and is divided into square panels, originally covered with 
bronze. Every thing in the shape of metal has been removed, 
save the brass ring which supports the aperture above. The 
effect of this rising dome, and the open space, is verj' imposing. 



154 EOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

The clouds are seen floating over the miracle of architecture, like 
fairy ships in a sea of azure. The eye and the dome swim with 
them, dizzily entranced. The sunlight, spiritually thin and trans- 
parent, slants in beauty through the aperture, and down the swell- 
ing dome, illumining a shrine and a marble saint. Apollo seems 
enamored of the place, and fills it with his presence. 

The perfection of architecture is said to consist in the ability 
of the columns to support the entablature ; just as that wall is 
perfect which supports the roof The idea of utility is connected 
with that of beauty. Out of their marriage, in " sweet union 
doubled," springs Harmony. This harmony breathes in the 
Pantheon. It extends from the portico to the smallest capital ; 
from the largest niche to the nicest tracery ; from the swelling 
dome to the majestic whole. It is the grace and charm of the 
Pantheon. It is the fit tomb for Raphael, whose sublime genius 
towered so finely to-day, as we gazed on his " Transfiguration." 
His remains are under one of the shrines, before which a ghostly 
father was saying mass. Annibal Carrachi also lies here in his 
company. 

One of the first things which attracted our wonder was, that 
so large a temple seemingly^ should be so small in fact. This is 
designed. Madame de Stael says, that it proceeds from the 
great space between the pillars, and from the air playing so 
freely within, and still more from the absence of ornament, with 
which St. Peter's is surcharged. This latter fact will account for 
the seemingly small appearance of St. Peter's, compared to its 
actual size. But in the Pantheon every concomitant is present, 
to make it 

" Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime, — . 
Shrine of all saints and temple of all Gods 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blessed by Time ; 
Looking tranquillity ! " 

Passing out of the Pantheon, you will find the step to the 
ridiculous at its door, where an herb-market, a puppet-show, a 
crowd around a fiddler, and a " natural panram" as our guide 



ill 



J ) n 




ST. PETEE'S, FROM THE JANICULUM. 



ROME, LIVIA'G AND DEAD. I55 

termed it, are presented. The hurly-burly of old women, and 
the chaffering of buyers of cherries, radishes, apricots, etc., rise 
amid the plash of fountains. Rome is never without these latter 
beauties. Here, aqueducts are copious and clear. After enter- 
ing a palace or so — among which is the Rospigliosi, where we 
saw Gruido's splendid fresco of Aurora being copied by several 
artists — we ascend, for a closing view, the Janiculum. 

17. The Janiculum. 

We pass by the prison wherein the Republicans are con- 
fined ; we pass across the Tiber, and through the region inhab- 
ited by those who call themselves the descendants of the old 
Romans. I only saw one of them. He was over six feet with- 
out boots — wore baggy, dirty linen pants, and a questionable 
coat. His head gloried in a red cap. He moved a Roman 
Ichabod Crane, the ghost of Famine, Campbell's las.t man, or 
whatever else you please — only do not call him an old Roman. 
If you do, burn Tacitus and Plutarch. 

We ascended* into that part of the city where the French 
and Italians fought. Men are engaged even yet in mending the 
wall. We can see where it has been breached and patched. 
The picture which follows but faintly delineates the scene. The 
so-called palace of Garibaldi, as well as its adjacent buildings, 
are in ruins. Marks of musket and cannon balls are plenty. 
In the finest gallery of Rome — the marble room of the Colonna 
Palace — we saw a cannon ball lying upon a white step, with the 
marks of its ruin yet apparent in the broken marble. It had 
entered one of the windows. Every where about Rome, espe- 
cially on the western side, are the marks of no ordinary, nay, of 
a terrific struggle. We drove up to the fine fountain of the 
Janiculum ; saw far, far down, the French cavalry practising, 
the colonnades and Basilica of St. Peter's, the Vatican with its 
rich gardens and palaces, and all around us that Campagna, 
which seems (as kas been beautifully said) to be wasted, as if 



156 HOME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

the earth, fatigued by Glory, disdained to be productive. Pass- 
ing dowUj I observed a gravel mound by the road-side, with two 
rough crosses of wood stuck on it. It was the grave of some 
four hundred brave fellows, (God bless them, for the priests did 
not, even refusing them decent burial,) who fell here, defending 
the young Republic from the invasion of perfidious foes, — foes 
who should have been friends. May the Avenger — No ! Injus- 
tice, false and foul, is ever its own Avenger. The human heart 
contains the whip of scorpions. Think you, no tears water that 
little mound — no curses are muttered over those rude crosses ! 

18. Farewell to Rome. 

Before leaving Rome, we visited the theatre. It is cheap 
in price and poor in quality. The box, to the first, is only 
fifteen cents. It looked odd, that theatre did, under the open 
sky, with the seats of stone, and a few hundred lazily laughing 
at a comedy which was only pantomime to us. We could see 
that it was a love scene, anyhow. Love knows no langiiage, you 
know. For all that we could understand of what a big-whiskered 
servant in a Duke's disguise was saying to a pretty Baroness, 
enamored of his swaggering air, it might have been as well the 
Kickapoo. 

Time gallops fast amidst orange groves and picture galleries, 
ruins and roses, Villas and Vaticans, music and mosaic. As 
yet the confusion arising from the multiplicity of objects, all 
intensely interesting, prevents me from giving prominence where 
all is so beautiful and bewitching. I could as soon tell " which 
nymph more neatly trips it before Apollo than the rest." 

We are about to close our sojourn at Rome. Ten days were 
never as full of incident to us. We have mingled in every 
variety of life, have recognized our own kind in the smiles and 
woes of the oppressed and beggared, have spared no effort to 
renew the great scenes which were here enacted, and no pains 
to learn the present state of things in this anomalous govern- 
ment. 



ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. I57 

These ruins and temples, relics of departed power, — how 
boldly do they contrast with the scenes recorded in our chapters 
upon the World's Exhibition ! What new phases have been 
produced by modern civilization ! What strange elements of 
life are the offspring of Christianity ! 

Now farewell to Rome. Upon this Sabbath night we leave 
for Naples. Right sorry are we that we could not wait till 
Wednesday, the time fixed by the Pope for our presentation to 
him, on the kindly application of Mr. Cass. But no : already 
we are in our vetturino, parting the crowds at St. Peter's Piazza, 
and making toward the gate in time to be out before it should 
close for the night. How finely Rome, and especially St. Peter's 
looked at the setting of the sun, as we drove for the last time 
over the bridge of St. Angelo. The castle towered up round and 
grand against the sky, with its figure of St. Michael and his 
drawn sword, standing out palpably beautiful. The Basilica of 
St. Peter's, from which we parted with regret, looked gloomy, 
with its long shadows and great colonnades ; but how coolly re- 
freshing was the relief furnished by the twin colossal sheafs of 
water, bending over with their rich harvesting of spray. 

We are on the highway. A moon of red and gold burst out 
of Rome, to light us over the Campagna. Hushed and stilly 
was the repose of Nature over these plains which once shook 
with the tread of legions, and which was once adorned with the 
splendid residences of the lords of the earth ! Now and then the 
silence was broken by the encouraging cry of the teamsters, who 
were moving toward Rome with their loads of hay. We drove 
past old towers brightened into new life by the light. We looked 
timidly out for some romantic rascal of a bandit ; but the Cam- 
pagna disdains such puny heroics, intoxicated with its olden 
glory. As we passed each glen, or hill, I looked in vain for that 
respectable personage, who has so long resided in the covers of 
novels and in the brains of boarding-school misses. He was not 
to be seen — that deep-browed, whiskered bandit, with his blouse 
and sash, his sugar-loaf hat all plumed, and pistoled belt, his fore 



158 ROME, LIVING AND DEAD. 

foot planted firmly, and his profile painted dimly between the eye 
and the sky — not he. 

Now we pass a man with a sharp ironed stick, pricking tar- 
dy oxen homeward — now a diligence hurrying along, in muffled 
mystery. We hear a low, mellow sound, much like music heard 
in dreams. As we approach we see a new moon, " dipped, not 
drowned," in the Mediterranean ; but broken into myriad lights 
upon her mobile bosom. Soon we halt, to rest upon the shore of 
the sea, and amidst ruins upon which the silver waves dash, and 
over which they leap in filigree spray. Here romance may fill 
her goblet and drain it in gladness. We do not need the bandit, 
to complete the scene. A sweet voice from the auberge struck 
up an Italian song, while I sat upon a ruin, writing at midnight, 
by moonlight, in my journal; our ladies all the while ecstatically 
predisposed, and ready to fall in (love with) the Mediterranean 
for joy ! 

The next night we slept upon this same sea, right soundly, 
in the midst of moon-lit waves, oblivious, — while our steamer 
was bearing us southward to the place where Beauty loves to 
breathe in her own selectest home. 



XL 

Jlajilrs,— its Xnnrlinrss ml Imm, 

" Hunc igitm- terrorem animi tenebrasque necesse est." 

Virgil. 

MY pen moves to the soft and silver purling of the waves 
against this delicious shore. Our hotel is upon the Bay of 
Naples — only divided from its cerulean waters by a garden of 
flowers walled in from the sea. and against which the gentle un- 
dulations sing their madrigals of sweetness. The eye wanders 
over the " most beautiful bay in the world," now clothed in its 
morning garment of transparent light ; while past our window 
the sail-boats fly and the oars flash. Upon the right, there rises 
gently from the bay, hills of fruitage. Naples swings about cir- 
cularly, and white as if newly washed. We begin to realize 
that there is a lovelier nature in this sunny land. The breeze 
comes gently warm and deliciously laden. The sparkle of the 
waters has more diamond points. The horizon kisses the hea- 
ven with a warmer blush, and the heaven bends over with the 
witchery of beauty. 

In a land where the fruitage " drinks gold even from the 
mid-winter air," it might be expected that nature would be richly 
adorned in this middle of June. The consummation of this 
southern Italian scenery may find expression in the familiar 
hymn, 

" Here every prospect pleases, 
And only man is vile." 

We woke up in the Bay of Naples ; that is, our boat was 
therein. A band at the fort was laboring as hard as it could 
with brass, to destroy the soft influences of the place by their 



160 NAPLES— ITS LOVELINESS AND HO R ROB. 

clangor. The jargon of boats assists the band. Naples lies 
around us ; her domes swelling under the loftier hills, whose 
trellised terraces bespeak the favorite home of Bacchus and Po- 
mona. White-dressed soldiers are apparent all about. The 
isles of the bay sleep sweetly and smilingly uuder their Arachne 
web of haze — the favorite resorts of Lamartine; Isehia, the home 
of Graziella ; Procida and CaprK, the selectest spots wherein 
Paul and Virginia might fully know the " unreserve of mingled 
being," and where the brow of nature is imbound with the 
golden rigol of love ! Vesuvius, twin-peaked, gracefully rises 
from the bay, with her slight scarf of white smoke curling from 
her top. Do you wonder that amid yon isles, set in the spark- 
ling azure, and amid such a sweet circuit of beauty, the genius of 
the French poet, wild as that of Ossian, and tender and melan- 
choly as that of Rousseau, dropped pearls of rare loveliness? 

We are called ashore, and there, amid the police and custom- 
house officers, the lazaroni and hotel-runners, we feel that angels 
do not people this beautiful land. Soon the lofty window of om* 
hotel becomes an observatory, high and aloof from all human 
disturbance, where the eye and the mind, wearied as it has been 
with the creations of art. can drink in the spirit of this incom- 
parable scenery. There are no harsh edges or determinate out- 
lines of things ; but all is blended into soft and mellow unison 
— a harmonious flow of beauty. The breeze breathes over the 
bay in flickering shadows, as if a great spirit were moving upon 
its face. Within this amphitheatre of rocks and groves, there 
lies something deeper than mere imagery. It is the inner and 
tranquil soul of beauty — 

" Deep bosomed in the still and quiet bay — 
The sea reflecting all that glowed above, 
Till a new sky, softer, but not so gay, 

Arcli'd in its bosom, trembles like a dove." 

But we might for ever dwell upon '(Xxq'&q fcaUircs of beauty, 
and still receive no lasting good, no joy other than that transient 



NAPLES,— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. \^\ 

bound wliicli pleasure brings. Nobler influences should ema- 
nate from such exquisite external forms. If we would feel the 
" passion and the life of things," we must perceive God's excel- 
lency, love and purity, enshrined, all crystalline, in the water 
as it rises in flowers of white and falters into music below, and 
in the sky which bends over in its warm livery of lustre. That 
soul which cannot here find new splendors in the grass, new 
glories in the flower, richer tintings in the fruitage, love unut- 
terable in the landscape ; and which cannot rejoice with nature 
in her wedding garment, and sing her epithalamium, must be 
" dull as the lake that slumbers in the storm." Sensation here 
becomes lulled, form is melted, the soul is transported, thought 
even dies in enjoyment ; and the hymn of praise rises, without 
efi"ort, to the first Good, first Perfect, and first Fair. Is it won- 
derful that the ancient Roman senators and citizens here ex- 
pended untold wealth to make Baiae their summer resort? Is 
it strange that Virgil here sought entombment by the sweet 
murmur of the limpid wave of Parthenope 1 Is it curious that 
Cicero here listened to the soft and sonorous lapse of the elo- 
quent sea, curling full and graceful as one of his own ore rotundo 
periods? Is it startling that the luxurious people of Pompeii 
and Herculaneum lingered here under the very shadow of de- 
struction, spell-bound by the Siren of the shore ? 

But stay ! had we a poet's pen, wherewithal to lose oneself 
in labyrinths of sweet utterance, there would still remain that 
" drainless shower" of beauty, which again I have just seen 
flooding the heaven and the earth ; whose element is light, 
whose music is the undertone of love, whose fragrance is the 
stilly prayer of the humble heart, and whose aspiration is to 
walk with white-handed Hope and pure-eyed Faith, in such soft, 
rich radiance, where summer smiles ever in the gardens of God ! 
One should have the golden flush of Landon's prose, and the 
resources of Burke's imagery ; the Grecian loveliness of Keats, 
and the fusing sensibility of Byron, all elevated by the devotion 
of sweet Jeremy Taylor ; or their nearest combined approxima- 



162 NAPLES,— ITS LOVELINESS AND HO R ROB. 

tion in the intense feeling of the mild and lovely, which drops 
from the pen of Lamartine, to utter the sentiment and soul of 
this scenery of the south ! 

Mr. Cass showed me a painting of Neapolitan scenery in his 
gallery at Rome, which I pronounced an excellent Idealism of 
some genius who had glimpses of celestial shores, where rose- 
tinted waters make melody on gems and gold. " You had bet- 
ter wait, sir, until you see such a heaven and such water at 
Naples, before you pronounce this ideal." So I have. I am 
content to believe the painter has failed to do justice to the 
original. I ordered, with his permission, a copy of the land- 
scape by the same painter, to take home to my friends, as the 
evidence of my enthusiasm. " Oh ! what a goodly earth is 
ours !" is the ready exclamation at each gaze from the window. 
There is music here full and tender ; but like that in Hamlet's 
flute, it cannot be brought out unless one knows the — stops. 
There is beauty in that bay, now glittering with pearl and ruby, 
amethyst and emerald, turquoise and diamond ; but like those 
gems in the enchanted cave, they must lie unseen, unless some 
genius of magic would illumine my page with Aladdin's won- 
derful lamp. I neither know the flute, nor possess the lamp ; 
still " sweet will be the dew of these memories, and pleasant the 
balm of their recollection." 

The singular contrast to this beauty towers up above the 
bay, and holds within its molten heart the elements of Destruc- 
tion. Grod has implanted amid this garden the mountain of 
Vesuvius, and opened to the view of the luxurious people the 
ruins of buried cities. Truly is it said, the dwellers here live 
upon the confines of paradise and hell fire ! We bear evidence 
of both. Yesterday we visited Vesuvius and looked down its 
crater and saw there ! 

Before I tell you what I saw, my reader had better ascend 
with us. After engaging the good guide Antonia, and preparing 
a basket of lunch, we drive around the shore, hugging the bay 
as. long as possible. Palaces alternate with shops ; fine vistas 



NAPLES,— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. 163 

of orange gardens through high portals, succeed to dirty houses, 
at whose doors pigs and donkeys are tied. We pass the king's . 
palace, well guarded and frowning. He seldom comes forth, 
poor prisoner ; for he is afraid of being shot. Well he may be. 
We enter some fine piazzas with colonnades ; but " none to speak 
of." after seeing St. Peter's at Rome. It is the hour of noon ; 
and every body is sleeping, except the ever-laboring donkeys. 
We observed at the great granary, the largest building in Na- 
ples, some hundreds of workmen, all lying prone upon the 
stones, asleep — a strange group ! Men in long brown woollen 
caps, driving cows, oxen and donkeys, sometimes all in one team, 
hold the reins — asleep ; and we distinctly saw one strapping 
fellow, ahold of his donkey's tail — a common mode of guidance 
here, walking along — asleep. The rumbling of our carriage 
disturbed his dream of paradise, which consists of apricots and 
maccaroni. There is one portion of the population still awake, 
that is, the beggars. Our carriage was thronged with them 
when we stopped ; and as we moved, they ran for hundreds of 
yards, holding up withered arms, opening diseased eyes, and 
piping their theatrical anguish most piteously Children, dressed 
in no gaudy, tinnatural way, play in the sun, in primitive, Eden 
style. The famous Neapolitan curriculo dashes along, loaded to 
the top and bottom, with dozens, though seemingly no larger 
than a go-cart. The picturesque costume of the people lends an 
air of romance to the drive. The brass harness of the donkeys, 
from whose backs it rises in queer shape some feet, flashes in 
the sun. These same donkeys perform other important func- 
tions for the lazy people, some of which are represented by our 
artist, in a happy style. It is no caricature either, as I can 
verify. Long lines of fruit venders are ranged along the streets. 
Still we drive and drive, occasionally looking upward, and find- 
ing Vesuvius just as near and just as distant in the clear air as 
ever. The city seems a never-ending one. New-York is small 
compared to it in length. Its population is more than half a 
million, it being the third city in Europe. 



164 NAPLES— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. 

At last we stop, after riding long miles. Our guide informs 
us that we are over Herculaneum ! A door opens, torches are 
lighted, and our company (eight Americans) descend. We pass 
into the great theatre, which is only partially excavated. Un- 
like Pompeii, Herculaneum is buried deep, and is not so easily 
displayed. The grand entrances to the theatre and niches be- 
tween (wherein a marble statue was found), the long circle of 
corridors, the front of the stage, the place for the orchestra, the 
circled seats of stone, were all in perfect preservation. An im- 
press of a mask or bust — the features finely marked in the solid 
lava above our heads, was seen by the aid of our torches. We 
passed into some of the houses, which wei-e excavated. The 
old brick and mortar had withstood the besieging, burning lava, 
nobly ; but the wood was charred. We were shown into the 
garden where an old palace had been dug out. The floors were 
finely tesselated, and the walls of yellow and red still revealed 
their quaintly painted figures. The walls of the city, at whose 
base the sea murmured as sweetly, as now to my ear it murmurs 
against the wall of Naples, were pointed out. Far difi"erent 
music it hissed and boiled, upon that fatal time, when the vic- 
torious molten elements of the mountain drove it inhospitably 
away. Plucking a flower from one of the gardens of the ancient 
city, which withered and fell, ere it could be pressed, we con- 
tinued our drive thi-ough Portici, and up the mountain. 

Vesuvius really extends down to the sea ; but the ascent is 
so gradual that it is almost imperceptible. One may, however, 
trace the stream of lava and the stratum of scoria3 by the richness 
of the foliage and the sweetness of the bloom. For over an 
hour we wound around, amid walls overhung with fruit-trees and 
vines. Oranges, nectarines, apricots, big cherries, pomegranates 
and figs, line our upward way. What genius of cultivation could 
equal this mountain side in prodigality? What peculiar element 
of fructification dwells in this volcanic soil, and over this burn- 
ing crater? My knowledge of botanical chemistry fails me in 
these queries. The luscious fact, however, waters most tooth- 



2fAFLE,S,—ITS LOVELINESS AND HOItROE. I65 

somely in the mouth, as apricot, oi-ange, and nectarine severally 
are victimized. The red and gold of the nectarine, and the 
melting glisten of its wounded side, wooing you to another 
indentation, brought forcibly to my mind the beautiful saying 
of Walter Savage Landor — that the best results of human 
thought spring from a clear head meditating over a burning 
heart, just as the richest fruits spring out of the sides of a vol- 
cano over its hidden fire ! 

We pass through a continuous succession of gardens, stopping 
to buy from the peasants some fruit, — meeting donkies laden 
with their rich burdens, going down to the city under the guid- 
ance of boys, and women with baskets upon their heads, return- 
ing from the city, their fruit all sold. As we ascend higher by 
the good road, the hard iron cinders begin their domain of deso- 
lation, interspersing their barrenness amidst the smiling culti- 
vation. As we followed the zigzag course, every now and then 
a view would open, disclosing, on either side, gorge in gorge, 
and chasm fearfully hid in chasm beneath. Two or three little 
houses are set away up, some fifteen hundred feet above the sea, 
perfectly unconscious of the slumbering Pandemonium beneath. 
The '•Hermitage," — our carriage destination, — is still higher. 
It marks the summit of vegetation. Above it, there grow no 
more of the ever-blooming sweets of Nature. Near by, is a 
little cottage, prettily ensconced in the side-hill, against whose 
Gothic front, on which the Madonna is painted, the evening sun 
begins to pour his horizontal beams. Chestnuts and mulberries 
overhang the gorges around. We strike the level, and are in 
the midst of the guides and horses, and in front of the antique- 
looking "Hermitage." An' awful and a strange scene is thiis, 
verily. Such a devilish crew — fit ministers unto such a curi- 
osity as this of Volcano-seeing ! The mountain is half-way 
ascended, yet there it is above us, apparently just as high as 
ever. Its laborious ascent is not yet begun. All is thus far a 
world of pleasure. If Dr. Cheever were writing, he would 
moralize this upward way into a Bunyan pilgrimage, or an 



166 NAPLES— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. 

allegory of some kind. We have passed through a region, upon 
which the Hours have pressed down to men the prodigality of 
Heaven. Wanton Spring and fruitful Autumn lead us with 
soft and downy steps so gradually upward, that we are rather 
allured than led by the "goodly prospect." The "Hermitage" 
marks the point where Paradise ends and fire begins to show its 
effects. It is not so bad a place either. It furnishes us a lunch 
of rare deliciousness and ponies of sure footing. After buying 
our canes, and some boxes of Vesuvian relics, we mount — a 
gleeful company. We ride Indian file, over and amid cragged, 
jagged, and ragged rocks — the result of more recent eruptions. 
Around and upward we wind — going over the great crater (now 
fireless) from whose heart Pompeii received its doom. So deep 
and large was its discharge, that it divided the mountain, so as 
to make it appear like two peaks. The right hand peak, which 
is nearest to the sea, is the grand one, and that which we must 
climb. A calcined world of desolation, with no murmur of 
cascades, no music of pine-trees, awaits our step. The smoke 
winds about its summit almost perpendicularly above us. Is 
the ascent practicable ? Onward ! The guides whip the ponies 
behind, steering them by their tails, and, with laugh and halloo 
we find ourselves at the j^^destrian point. There are three ladies 
of our party, and they must mount the chairs. By the way, 
now that the ladies are out shopping, let me pilfer from the 
journal of one of them, her sensations upon the extraordinary, 
perpendicular, and peculiar romance of the ride. I give it ver- 
batim : " Here, at the point of steepest ascent, were our palan- 
quins in waiting; and then began a chattering among the guides. 
Some one said that they were quarrelling and scrambling to get 
the smallest lady. [The writer seemed to be a peculiar object of 
care.) Simultaneously we were hoisted on the backs of our 
bearers — four poles sustaining the chair in which we sat. Swart- 
looking fellows they were — one at each pole. L led the 

way in our horseback cavalcade, and now came my turn to 
swing the veil of the foremost, when — short-lived triumph! — one 



NAPLES— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. 157 

of my poor fellows gave way, and I was obliged to see all the 
others pass by. Still amid slipping rocks and sliding sand, they 
tugged, the perspiration rolling ofi" in big beads. It was labor 
to us also, to see them, from our rocking, fearful, tremulous, 
dancing chair, straining and puffing with our weight. It was 
terrible to look below. The men seemed like little creeping 
things away down in the distance. I did half glance at the sun 
setting in the sea, and the far-off city and country. But the 
point of vision was too fearful to enjoy the spectacle. By dint 
of occasional resting and changing, our guides brought us to 
the top ; and then such piteous grimaces and chatterings for 

money and drink ." But that is a scene to be enjoyed by 

all. The men all walked. I seized the strap over the shoulder 
of my guide, who, by the way, carried the provender, and took 
the lead. Whether it was my light foot, or the persuasiveness 
of the basket, I obtained the^first sight at the yellow, sulphur- 
ous, smoking, abysmal pit ! 

Our general guide, Antonia. was last to come up. Conse- 
quently we were at the mercy of the other guides — appropriate 
genii of the spot. Such a pack of imps of limbo ought only to 
herd about the infernal hole. My man began whimpering and 
hullabalooing most hideously, as he wiped the sweat from off his 
black face. They were paid fully by Antonia, and thought to 
make a speculation out of our gullability. " Je suis fatecge /" 
" Me-monie !" " changez pour moi — beef stek and maccaroni !" 
" Oh ! donnez me sum, Signor." With bad French and worse 
English, around the men and around the ladies, with twisted faces 
and devilish horror depicted on them, they danced, gestured, 
chattered and swore, until Antonia came up, who, by dint of 
wilder gestures and a greater noise, stopped them. I fixed my 
man's volubility by repeating the ' Declaration of Independence.' 
I had hardly finished one of the ' grievances ' before he left me 
with a curse deep and strong. It made one feel queerly, to be up 
out of the world, after sundown, amidst these paths of fire and 
smoke, with only a good-sized cane, and with such a company, 



168 NAPLES— ITS LOVELINESS AND HORROR. 

say twenty black-browed scoundrels to lead you within an inch 
of certain death. However, it was a part of the play, and along 
we trudged, over smoky ground and ashes, trembling and half 
suffocated with the fumes of sulphur, until we stood upon the 
brink of a visible hell. I hate swearing, but that is the only 
expressive word. With handkerchiefs to the noses, and eyes 
aghast, we looked down into the seething, smoking, blackened 
abyss ! Here was the fountain itself of those molten streams 
of fire which covered the face of earth for leagues, and buried 
great cities ! Our guides ventured upon the sides of the chasm, 
and rolling great rocks down, bid us list ! Up, 2<!/?, up — comes 
the cracking, sepulchral noise. " Sounding on its dim and 
perilous way," it still rises apparently from miles below — and 
when it would seem that even sound, were it ever so deep, could 
no longer be heard, the heart would burn fearfully to hear pro- 
longed the noise — till it seemed to expire ; 

" Yet from the Abyss is caught again, 
And yet again recovered." 

If one were not so horrified, fancy might picture the Devil 
growling below in his deepest pits, as blow after blow of the 
rock cracked upon his infidel head. As we looked down amidst 
the curling vapor, and heard the hollow sound, and inhaled the 
sulphurous smoke, and looked on either side at the immense 
gorges now emptied of their fires, we felt that for the first time, 
we were amid the perfection and sublimity of horror ! A few 
steps either way, and it is certain destruction. The ground is 
hot. You may turn over its smoking ashes with your cane. 
The guide lit a torch at the fire. But even here, can we not 
look upward into the deep, calm heaven, with its high and vault- 
ed boss of stars, interpenetrated with the relict lustre of the de- 
parted day 1 Cannot we see from this pinnacle of Dread, the 
beauty of that great law of Being, which is quaintly described 
by an old English Bard, as 



NAI>LES,~ITS LOVELINESS AND HOBBOR. 169 

A great gold clmin ylinked well, 

Whose uppei" eud to highest heaven was knitt, 

Aud lower part did reach to lowest hell ! 

And cannot imagination people the " deep amaze " of the 
starry vault with its creations of angelic beauty, winnowing the 
air around, and brooding over the orange groves and vineyards 
below ; as well as the horrid mystery of Deepness and Death 
into which we gaze, with those ghastly and horrid phantoms, 
described by the Latin poet, whose tomb we are about to visit, 
and whose verse we have prefixed to this chapter of contrasts. 

With torches bright, and hearts relieved, we took giant 
strides down the mountain at an angle of fifty degrees, and 
from a height 4,000 feet above the bay. It was tall walking — 
that promenade. The space which absorbed an hour of ascent 
was performed downward in ten minutes. Again with horse 
and carriage, and moonlight, we descended into the city, whose 
lights in crescent beauty twinkled far, far below, displaying her 
as the bride of the Mediterranean recumbent and asleep, — her 
forehead gleaming with a coronet of gems. Soon we find as 
sweet a sleep as ever laborer felt. One of the biggest pile- 
drivers on the public improvements could not have wedged a 
dream into that solid sleep. I was sure in the morning, from 
my eyelids, that Somnus himself had been sitting on them all 
night. I would not perform the same operation for the reader ; 
so I close for another theme. 



XTI. 



Ufi|ilrs--3ts toirttf nnlr Ilr^nlnttDii. 

Aiulire Pt videor pios 
Krrare per lucos, amacnae 
Quos et aquae subcunt et aurae. 

Horace. 

A WEEK'S stay seems but a slight taste of tbis Paradise. 
Nevertbeless, tbe time of our visit has proved fortunate. — 
What we regretted to miss at Rome, and for which great pre- 
parations were making when we left, we have seen here. The 
festal of Corpus Domini is always a great gala among Italians. 
As we drove to Vesuvius on tbe first day of our arrival, our eye 
was attracted, at every few squares of this illimitable city, by 
liigb altars, resembling the pagodas we saw at the World's Exhibi- 
tion. They consist of rough framework, surrounded by cloth 
of gold, gems and spangles, great stars and red tinselling. They 
look like large political platforms, done up in gaudy dress. Pre- 
parations were being made to illuminate the city. Lanterns of 
divers colors hung from garlands of green about the altars, 
across streets and at every door. Artificial fountains there 
were too, around which flowers were wreathed and paintings 
placed. As we returned from Pompeii, which we visited day 
before yesterday, we saw the illumination and the people. A 
gush of hilarity seemed to run all through Naples. These 
children of the sun, — how they do revel in pleasure upon such 
days as this ! They save throughout the year, to eat their 
choicest maccaroni upon Corpus Domini. Crowds were collected 
about the altars listening to music. Crowds about the eating 
and lemonade stalls, singing and hallooing. Crowds lined the 
way^ laughing,— as if Herculaneum w^re not beneath — a corpse, 



NAPLES,— ITS GAYJSTY AND DESOLATION. 171 

nor Pompeii laid bare in desolation. Ha ! Ha ! Ho ! in genu- 
ine fun — a language which needs no dragoman to interpret — 
roai-ed around, as lantern flashed against jewelled altar, and re- 
flected its brightness in the joyous mass. Curriculi loaded full 
of picturesque people, drive by — all jovial. Donkeys are piled 
from head to tail with human nature, the children being in 
baskets upon their backs, as the sketch represents them. We 
descended from our carriage to mingle with the mass. On every 
side is carelessness and mirth, and that without drunkenness. 
Indeed, I have seen but one drunken man, and he was a sol- 
dier, since I left England ; and that although wine bleeds 
' fresh and free from every hill-side and mountain-top. Yester- 
day the procession came ofi". Priests by the hundreds officiated. 
The host was elevated. The people were blessed from the 
altars. All shops were closed. Naples was high in her festi- 
vity. The meanest lazzarone that ever begged or stole, joined 
in the general joy, and forgot his condition in the glee. 

In one of the churches, nuns were seen peeping through the 
bars, and solemn priests marched around and amidst the crowd- 
ed aisle. By the way, let me tell you of a singular vegetable 
phenomenon which our party saw in the cloistered court of the 
church of St. Severino. It was a fig-tree of large size growing 
out of the hollow of a great oak, and bearing three difi"erent 
kinds of figs. Vegetable wonders, however, are as common 
here as the leaves upon the sides of Vesuvius. During a drive 
yesterday to the tomb of Virgil, we had a fine view of great 
fields recovered from the sea. by the labor of peasants and the 
money of the king, and which are covered with vineyards as far 
as the eye can reach, and interspersed with white houses of rare 
beauty. 

Our visit to Pompeii will never be forgotten. Who can see 
and forget those long streets deserted and dead ; those temples 
broken and robbed of their gods ; those rooms with their red 
and yellow paintings ; and those gardens with their fountains 
and statues, their mosaics and pillars — all. o/l speaking the 



172 SAI'LA'6,—JTS GAYETY AM> IjESOLATIOS. 

great tragedy which primevally was here enacted. The forums 
are standing just as they stood when the lake of fire was poured 
upon the devoted city. The temples and their altars — strange 
illustrations of former worship — stand side by side with the 
baker shops and taverns. Barber shops and theatres, baths 
and tombs, are here — an vinwritten history, a book of marvels, 
which the fire of the mountain has bound with its clasps of 
stone, to be pondered eighteen hundred years after by a wonder- 
ing world. 

The ride to this city of fire lies along the shore of the bay. 
The Apennines bound the vision upon the east ; and between 
them and Naples lies the volcanic fountain. The city of 
Pompeii is upon the other side of the mountain, occupying a 
great plain. It was discovered in 1750 by peasants working in 
a vineyard. About one-third of it is uncovered ; enough to 
show that the arts of painting, sculpture and poetry flourished 
greatly in the midst of as luxurious and wicked a people as ever 
were permitted to fester under heaven. WJtat I scrw /his never 
been 'written^ what I saw is evidence more than enough, even to 
a sense of disgust, of the deepest stains of sin. and the deepest 
depths of degeneracy. Sodom and Gomorrah were no doubt 
rank with iniquity. Pompeii, it seems to me. met with a similar 
fate for similar profligacy and corruption. No one (unless it be 
ladies, to whom such sights are not permitted) can go through 
these streets, look at the signs, examine the paintings and 
statues, without feeling that God took upon himself the office 
of Avenger, and used that mountain of lava as the instru- 
ment. 

We entered upon our researches just outside the walls ot 
Pompeii near some stables and tombs. The inscriptions tell, in 
very plain Latin, the story of the dead. We examined wells, 
the stones of which are worn with ropes, as if just used yester- 
day. Similar appearances along the curbing of the city, in- 
dicate places for hitching horses. Ovens like our own, in which 
bread was found rather well done, and which we saw to-day at 



NAPLES,— ITS GAYETY ASD DESOLATION. 173 

the Museum — were scattered about. The stones for grinding 
and working tlic dough were very curious. The diflferent houses 
are named from some statue or bust found in them, as the 
house of Cicero, or of Sallust, or of Castor and Pollux. The 
dining rooms, as v/ell as all the other rooms, are painted in yel- 
low and red ; and adorned with every variety of figures, mostly 
nude. Birds, fruits, and foliage in rare perfection ornament 
the walls. The rooms are all small, and lack ventilation. In 
nothing is our comfort so superior to the ancients as in this 
essential to health. The houses are only one story, except that 
of Diomede, which is two stories. The view on t'le subsequent 
page represents one of th.e villas near an ancient temple whose 
pillars yet stand. The different places of business can be told 
by some object found in them ; as for instance, a large money 
chest indicates the banking house ; a figure in the wall (Cupid 
mending shoes), a shoemaker ; the chair, a barber shop, and so 
on. The Pantheon with its twelve gods was found in fine 
order, surrounded by its forum ; while the Temple of Isis, with 
the altar for the sacrifice and even the hole for the blood, with 
its Egyptian symbols, and the skeleton of the priest, stands out 
prominent in the midst of the rviins. This last place has a pecu- 
liar interest. In it were found skeletons of priests, who had 
been dining when overtaken by the eruption. Bones of fowls 
and fish, remains of eggs, bread and wine, and a garland of 
flowers were found. Another skeleton leaned against the wall, 
with the axe of sacrifice in his hands ; and still another had 
escaped, carrying 360 coins of silver in a cloth, but was over- 
whelmed near the Tragic theatre. 

We lunched in a fine old dining-room, assisted by our guides, 
who liked amazingly to drink the health of us Americans in the 
Falernian. A jolly old soul was our guide. He was continually 
twitting us in broken French, about our love of the " anteckV 
I tried to carry off some trophies, but his vigilance prevented 
me. He presented me with a big bug. and tried to catch a liz- 
ard for my pocket, remarking that they were "anteeks." Every 



174 liAPLES—ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

thing was exceediugly -antique to him. The very flowers and 
orange-peels took the hue of antiquity. He introduced me to 
an old gray-haired, one-eyed soldier, at the gate of the theatre 
near the house of Diomede, as the brother of Diomede — " an 
anteekP The old soldier chuckled most funnily at the old 
joke. 

We visited the amphitheatre, which you may remember was 
filled at the time of the great eruption, that buried the city, in 
August A D. 79. Few skeletons were found in it. It is supposed 
that most of the inhabitants, including those in the theatres, 
escaped. Twenty thousand could find egress from the amphi- 
theatre in two minutes and a half; and no wonder, with such a 
number of corridors and doors. There are 97 places of inlet. 
It seeems to me that the amphitheatre, of all other places, would 
receive the first warning. Open at the top — the fiery glare of 
the visible peak of Vesuvius would flash in upon the gladiatorial 
scene, while the rumble of the earth beneath would drown the 
loudest roar of the beasts in their subterranean dens, and star- 
tle the people from their spell of pleasure. There were about 
300 skeletons found in Pompeii. Those of the soldiers in the 
barracks, and of seventeen persons, in a country-house whither 
they had fled for refuge, as well as the skeleton of the mother 
with her child in arms, are preserved in the studii of the Muse- 
um. As we walked upon the top of the amphitheatre, the sun 
of Italy was sinking in pink, orange a,nd purple. That most 
beautiful of all skies seemed deep and full of the mellow lustre, 
weaving its witchery over ruin and mountain. 

We visited another theatre. It was the favorite of the poets. 
It seemed as perfect as if but yesternight, 

"The cothurns trod majestic 
Down the deep Iambic lines. 
And tlie rolling anapcstic 

Curled like vajjor over shriue!<.'" 

Indeed every point of Pompeii speaks of the cultivation of 
dramatic poetry. Paintings of masks and of actors are abun- 



NAPLES— ITS GAVETY AND DESOLATION. 175 

dant. But had Pompeii one poet, whose imagination — as it 
revelled in the paintings, statues and groves, the theatres and 
forums, the isles of the beautiful bay and the rock-bound villas 
of the Apennines — ever dreamed of the great Drama, vt^hose 
persona; were the elements, and whose unity was as unbroken 
as its destiny was terrific ? Bulwer has lifted the curtain, and 
displayed the scenes of that drama. Has his vivid imagination 
even, done justice to the awful whelming which God poured upon 
this seat of art and luxury 1 

The soft twilight breeze creeps gently over the worn and 
desolated streets. A trembling and a fear rustles past on its 
wing, as we gaze upward to the dread mount whose hidden fires 
may again play the same tragedy upon unconscious Naples, now 
decked in her festal robes and illuminated with golden lights. 

While endeavoring to make out an inscription before the 
stage of the theatre, we were startled at a wild actor, who leaped 
from behind the scenes, and held us in comic wonder for some 
ten minutes, by some fragments of a comic play. His contor- 
tions of face, and his gyrations in the dance, added grotesqueness 
to the scene. It seems that our guide Antonia had slipped him 
in front to surprise and regale us. I never heard such a fiddling 
twang to a human voice before. He rung its changes oddly 
enough — as oddly as Punch himself He played a mimic flute 
with a stick ; and at the conclusion jumped into the chorus, with 
as much gusto as ever the Grecian chorus did under the spell of 
j95schylns. He danced it daintily, until a jerk of the body and 
a dofi" of the cap, which adroitly caught the expected coin — 
ended this specimen of the " antique." 

As a lawyer I visited the tribunal, where our respectable 
fraternity — if any such were permitted in so wicked a place — 
were wont to congregate. The seat of the judges was upon a 
forum, immediately over the prison cells, from whose gloom the 
prisoners could hear their own doom. An arrangement of the 
kind should commend itself to our civilized communities. It 
would save our courts much time in sending for, and remanding 
])ris(»uors. 



176 ^'AFL£S,—ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

As we wend our way homeward, a heavy cloud, betokening 
rain, enshrouds the apex of Vesuvius. All other parts of the 
horizon are clear and starry. A silence " deep as that between 
the trumpet summons and tlie judgment" sleeps in awe above. 
The very obscurity of the fount of fire, deepens the gloom and 
awe. It reminds us of the words of Festus ; Obscurity hath 
many a sacred use. The sacred use of Vesuvius, I as firmly 
believe, as I believe in God's retribution, has been to punish 
godless profligacy. Is its use wholly set aside ? Time may 
tell. 

As we ride along under the illuminated garlands and altars, 
we perceive little shell fountains almost invisible in the foliage, 
out of which water is spouted of a sudden, on a crowd of laugh- 
ing, mischievous rogues, assembled around the railings. Light- 
hearted Naples — what cai-es she for yon familiar fountain (jf 
fire? 

We visited yesterday the tomb of Virgil. Driving down 
the shore on the western side of the city, we see the tomb above 
us upon the solid rock, overlooking the bay. To reach it we 
must take a longer drive. We enter a tunnel, some half a mile 
long, called the grotto of Posilipo, — said to have been made 
originally by the devil. It bears other marks, however, those 
of wheel-hubs, all along the sides ; the grotto having been cut 
down time after time to its present level. It is lighted finely. 
Two carriages can drive abreast in it, and its height is at least 100 
feet. With jolly cracks of the whip we dash by the gala people, 
returning to the city. The grotto rings with their merriment. 
Soon we are in the country, having passed under the rocky ridge 
which divides the city from the suburban villas. Altars of red 
and gold arch the streets. Chestnut venders sing their nuts ; 
soldiers are drinking and gaming ; dark-browed citizens are 
rolling balls on the paves ; boys are driving goats into the city • 
the hemp is rotting in the sun by the road side after the Ken- 
tucky style ; all these objects pass rapidly by, — to be absorbed 
in the fine view which opens upon the shore. We stand near 



NAPLES— ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. I77 

another grotto cut by Lucullus, the wealthy Roman, in order to 
get to Baiae with more facility — Bai.e, that ancient city dimly 
seen down the bay near the bridge of Caligula, beyond the 
volcanic hills of Flageria. The isles of the bay float in the dis- 
tance, miles away ; yet apparently very near. So clear is the 
air that Capras, which is twenty-four miles from the mainland, 
seems not two miles from our point. The same illusion every- 
where deceives the vision. 

Can it be true that, upon those islands, which seem picked 
out for ensamples of the beautiful, the harshest rigors of ty- 
ranny are exacted ? Can it be, that under this cloudless heaven, 
and surrounded by this delightful bay, there is at this moment, 
carried on the blackest system of political jiersecution and cruelty 
ever practised by despotic arrogance 'I It is lamentably true, as 
Mr. Gladstone, in his able pamphlet to Lord Aberdeen, re- 
vealed, that at least 2G.O0O political prisoners, suspected or con- 
victed of liberal views, or of favoring the revolution of 1848. are 
chained with felons, and drudge day after day upon those isles, and 
in the surrounding prisons, without the hope of a hearing, or a 
chance of mitigation. 

This is not mere conjecture, nor rumor started by uneasy 
Republicans. The police i-egisters themselves show the number 
of political prisoners from May, 1848, to September, 1851. We 
append a table, which cannot record, however, the tortvires and 
cruelties incident to their imprisonment. It speaks with no 
common voice, of the system of political persecution of the King 
of Naples. 

These are the round numbers (under the actual figure), be- 
cause an exact quotation might subject many Government officials 
to serious annoyance. 

Number of Neapolitan Political Peisoxees, from May, 1848, to 
September, 1851. 

Condemned to tlie Ei-gastola, , . . . . 36 

Condemned in irons to the Bagni, .... 1,000 

Condemned in irons to the Bagni, but not yet removed from prison, 300 



178 NAPLES— ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

Bauislied to the islands after trial, .... 800 

Banished to the islands without trial, including the soldiers sent by 

royal authority to the camp of Charles Albert, . . . 6,000 

Accused, who have been, or still are, in prison, from May, 1848, to 

September, 1851, not included in the above, . . . 15,000 



Total, . . . . .23,136 

Supposed number of exiles, . . . . 3,000 

Hiding from the police, ..... 150 

Exiled from their native towns, but still in the kingdom, 350 



3,500 



Total number of victims of the Neapolitan Constitution, 26,636 

And it must not be forgotten, that this list does not include 
any, from that wretched class called lazzaroni, but mostly the 
respectable and moneyed class, who have intelligence to know, 
and the will to endeavor to obtain freedom. The lazzaroni were 
the hired instruments of the Bourbon, who instigated them to acts 
of pillage, murder, rape and arson, against those, and the families 
of those, who favored Constitutional Reform. Even yet these 
fiends are the chief support of the throne. The quarter where 
they live is called the King's quarter. Well, like master, like 
man. We hope for a reckoning with both. 

The best, the noblest, the brightest spirits of southern Italy, 
are included in the above statistics, and thus expiate what in 
the eye of Ferdinand II. is a horrid crime, viz., their belief in 
popular sovereignty. The wretched King can promise solemnly 
a Constitution to his people, and can deliberately perjure him- 
self; and conservatives are ever ready to laud his love of order, 
and his legitimate right. But a citizen dare not whisper to his 
own wife hardly his hope of a better day, without being loaded 
with irons, chained to thieves, and sent ofi" to one of these island 
prisons. The governments of the civilized world should, in the 
name of our common God and Humanity, protest with a vigor 
far different from mere diplomatic correspondence, against this 
wholesale abuse of power. Perhaps it would not be entirely 
according to international law. But is not that law progressive ? 



NAPLES— ITS GAVETY AND DESOLATION. 179 

Does it uot spring from the universal reason of men, as well as 
from universal custom ? and where is the reason why enlightened 
nations should not demand the observance of humane codes 1 It 
is even alleged that the tortures of the rack are resorted to by 
the government of Naples, to discover the liberalists, and their 
designs. It makes the flesh creep to think what infamous pei-- 
fidy and cruelty are known to have been here committed by the 
myrmidons of Power. Well ; let the first overt act be done 
toward an Englishman or an American — that is all ! People will 
then know how deep that moat is around the palace, and how 
fraternal that dear cousin of Austria is toward his ally of 
Naples. 

Does it not seem as if Providence had ordained the inhu- 
manity of mau to be an offset against the charms of nature in 
this clime % But let not these things deter us from our search 
after the tomb of Virgil. 

Driving around the bay to complete our circuit, we pass by 
the sweetest little nooks, hid in the coverts and inlets of the 
bay, the little terraces, gardens and fine houses of which are 
concealed, almost, amid rocks. Above and below, for hundreds 
of feet, is the leafy and stony architecture, natural and artificial. 
Luxury still is seated upon this lovely shore. Boats are plying, 
crowded witli men and women, from the city to the booths and 
cafes, which line its marge. A long winding walk, up — up, 
amidst groves of nectarine and figs, brings us to the tomb of 
Virgil. On the right is the promontory of Misenum, near which 
Palinurus fell into the sea. Farther to the right is the ever 
beauteous Ischia and Procida. The ancient seats of LucuUus, 
Hortensius and Marius, are not far off. In this classic vicinage 
lies the prince of Latin poets. The inscription found hero indi- 
cates, without doubt, the sacred spot. " Mantua me geniui, 
Calabra rapucie, tenet nunc Parthenojie^ cecina pascua.. rnra 
diicesP This inscription we copied from the stone within the 
tomb, which bends over the dust of the poet. Flowers bloom 
prodigally ai*ound The unceasing echo of the vehicles through 



180 NAPLES,— ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

the grotto disturbs the stillness, not the beauty of the spot. 
Fancy, ranging wide for similes, likened the murmuring echo to 
the solemn sounding of the great epic of the bard down the long 
corridors of Time. The voiceful sea celebi'ates, in music more 
harmonious than his own hexameters, the undying fame of the 
Mantuan poet. How strange for us, from the farthest Occident, 
to come hither looking for the mere monument of genius ! Is it 
not true, that 

" Pilgrims come from climes where they have known 
The name of him — who now is but a name ; 
And wasting homage o'er a sullen stone, 

Spread his — by him unheard, unheeded — -fame." 

Grod has written all over our hearts this love of the resting- 
places of the great and gifted, who have inspired us by their 
heroic lives, or charmed us by their " tongue of subtle flame." 
An old writer has transmitted to us the same sentiment of vene- 
ration, for which we in turn revere him — ^' Movcmur enini nescio 
quo 2^ii'(^tOi locis ipsis in quibus eorum^ quos diUgemus^ aut 
admiratmir adsunt vestigia." Nothing makes an American 
feel^how much his country must achieve, as to tread in these 
footsteps of Antiquity, and ponder the inscriptions over the 
tombs of genius and heroism. Nothing makes- him feel how 
much his country has achieved, as to see the operations of this 
present government, where every principle of civil right and 
common decency are sunk in the intoxication of irresponsible 
power. 

A visit to the Museum here is a part of the performance in 
travel. We found it full of the relics of the buried cities, con- 
sisting of every variety of personal ornament, cooking utensils, 
pictures, statues, and architecture. The famous Farnese Bull, 
and the surrounding group in marble, are here. Next to the 
Laocoon, it is the most complex achievement of the chisel. Of 
the paintings, churches, promenades ; of our visit to the opera 
at San Carlos, the largest theatre in Europe ; of the drive we 



jVAFLES,—ITS GATETY and desolation. 181 

had down the Riviera di Chiaja, amidst the beauty aud fashion 
of Naples, more splendid than Regent-street or the Boulevards • 
of our visit to the cemetery, whose beautiful buildings and 
grounds are the admiration of all visitors ; of the drive to the 
very home of the old Siren upon the banks of the Bay, fit 
allegory of the paradisiacal beauty and infernal horror which 
dwell about us ; of all these and more, are they not written 
upon the fleshly tablet, to be perused more at leisure ? 

This afternoon of Sabbath, the festival of St. Louis of France 
was celebrated in groat parade and pomp. Long processions 
of priests, in white robes and with wax tapers, were flanked 
by long lines of soldiers, in which marched singing boys and 
girls bearing flower wreaths much larger than themselves. Some 
were dressed up as knights of the chivalric times ; some in glit- 
tering costumes of other eras. Carriages, too, in long procession, 
in which were the Site of the city, brought up the line. As 
they marched down into the promenade, although it was the 
Sabbath, at least five hundred guns were fired. The promenade 
was crowded with the gay Neapolitans, all eager to see and hear. 
As the host moved by, under its golden canopy, attended by 
priests, or as the image of St. Louis moved along, borne aroft 
by priests, every hat was ofi" and obeisance was made with hum- 
ble reverence. This struck us queerly ; but we are prepared for 
any thing. The perfect uniformity in the Catholic Church here 
is wonderful. Every one is a member, and pays, at least, out- 
ward respect to its ordinances. 

The promenade displayed a more tastefully dressed people 
than London or Paris can show. The gentlemen here dress per- 
fectly. Najiles can show both extremes, the best-looking and the 
icorst-Xodkmg people in the world. Our first imjDression was cast 
from the features of the lazzaroni, whose indescribable appear- 
ance is as world-wide in its notoriety as the crater of Vesuvius. 

We have met many Americans at every point of our journey. 
They are more numerous abroad this year, than the travellers of 
all other nations put together. I was told by a reverend gentle- 



182 NAPLES— ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

man who had been to Palestine, that the Arabs were a little 
jealous of the Yankees. They feared the Yankees were going 
to " annex" the Holy Land. And certainly the reasons they 
give for it are ostensible, if not solid. They say that America 
has been sending a national expedition (Lieut. Lynch's) to 
survey the Dead Sea — that we follow up our government 
project, with droves of our countrymen, each one of which is as 
curious and inquiring after every thing, as if it were already his 
own. Well ; who knows what our destiny may be? Palestine 
may in the course of time have its representative in the Con- 
gress of the United States of America and Asia ; for 

" Westward the star of empire takes its way." 

And if that star will not set, but keep moving, I do not see that 
we can help taking China, and so on. 

Oh ! for a month's annexation of Naples to ourtJnion, that 
we might strike oiF the fetters from the thousands of Republican 
prisoners, who are enslaved in sight of their beautiful city, and 
that we might purge this Paradise of its serpents in human form, 
which have preyed long enough upon the anguish of the noble 
ana patriotic. 

As I write, the sound of military music mingles with the 
soft rolling of the waters ; while every now and then a discharge 
of musketi-y announces that some procession and celebration is 
going on. We observe upon the piazza, and now entering the 
promenade, a long congregation of white priests, carrying some- 
thing aloft, the host perhaps, while the people are kneeling 
around. What strange devotion we meet with here. We were 
shown in the Cathedral, forty silver images of the saints, large 
as life, to say nothing of mines of silver in shrines, flowers and 
sacred instruments. The churches do not equal those of Grenoa, 
much less those of Rome. There is not the same Art displayed. 

A week has flown here, in this other Eden, upon golden 
wing. It seems but a day or so, since we landed upon this 
shore of love and beauty. Within that time how many images 



NAPLES,— ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. igs 

of rare and exquisite form, — aye, and of rare and 'exquisite 
horror, have been painted on the memory ! Some of these have 
been transcribed. Yet the prospect still enchants, and here I 
would fain linger and write about each novel phase of beauty, 
which is revealed under this kindlier sky and around this bay 
of loveliness. Here is the perfection of external Nature, where 
the sun, — which is the glorious source of all our joys, — warms 
the soil into the most fragrant and richly-colored flowers and 
delicious fruits, and developes a landscape that is only equalled 
by the water scene which goldenly glows under the " blazing 
Deity." The very silence is enamored of the soft plash upon 
the shore, as it now invades so sweetly the ear, and locks in her 
cell, her own " spirit ditties of no-tone." The isles of the bay 
loom up amidst the sea, like isles of the blest. Every thing 
seems to exist, to ornament a temple of Love and Purity. 
Surely we can exclaim with the simple-hearted Miranda in the 
Tempest, 

" Thei'e's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. 

If the ill spirit have so fair an house, 

Good things will strive to dwell in it." 

But look at the dwellers here — the miserable, swart, ragged, 
haggard lazzaroni ; look at the spectacle of soldiers all about ; 
see that great fort surrounded by a deep moat in the midst of 
the city, for the sovereign to protect himself from his own peo- 
ple ; and above all, look, as I have, deep down in the great abyss 
of Vesuvius, walk over its smoking ashes and burning marl, 
inhale its sulphur breath, and tremble amid its horror ; and 
you will find that Providence has " mingled the cup." The gold 
is not without alloy, the sun has its spots, the luscious fruitage 
hath a canker at the heart ; — in fine, Naples, the home of the 
Homerian Siren, the seat of ancient Roman luxury, the resort 
of the gay and pleasure-loving from every clime, the spot chosen 
by Virgil for his repose ; the land favored by the presence and 
described by the pen of Lamartine, — Naples — has its Vesuvius, 
its Herculaneum buried beneath the indurated lava, and its 



184 I^'APLES—ITS GAYETY AND DESOLATION. 

desolated Pompeii under volcanic ashes, partly laid bare in its 
garments of woe ! 

All these spots we have visited, alternating from pai-a- 
disiacal beauty to unutterable terror. We have seen the ex- 
humed relies of these cities in the great Museum, studied their 
domestic history in the familiar household utensils and personal 
ornaments, their pictures and statues. And, as if in mockery 
of these warnings, we have listened to the sweet voices of the 
" children of this azure sheen " swelling in mellow music and 
falling in tremulous cadence, in the opera ; have seen them 
decked for the gala day, with their altars and fountains decorat- 
ed as none but the Neapolitans can ornament them, and min- 
gled with them in their joy under the very shadow of that 
fearful mountain, and over the very lava, under which lies stift", 
and rock-bound, the city of Herculaneum. 

Of all the places I have yet seen, upon which Nature has 
been lavish to prodigality, Naples seems the primal one. The 
sense aches with the continual beauty of all around. " In 
sweet madness "' the mind is robbed of itself, and in still ecstasy 
it delights in the ineft'able grace, music and loveliness which 
curls, sings and moves in the water, and is reflected in the bend- 
ing blue above and the leafy landscape around. 



XIII. 

Iirili[ nnh 3}inltn. 

" He iHislicd bis quarrels to the deatli. yet prayed 
The saints as fervently on bended knees 
As ever shaven cenobite."' 

Bt'yant. 

FROM the sunny land of the military priesthood of St. John 
my present greeting hails. Its unique and peculiar history 
lends a charm which would not otherwise belong to these dazzling 
streets and motley palaces. 

We left Naples on Monday, the 23d of June, and were a 
long time in losing sight of the bay of Beauty. All that is 
magical in the combination of light and shade has been daguer- 
reotyped by the mild sunshine upon our memory — fadelessly 
there pictured. We took our passage upon a French man-of-war. 
All went below to sleep ; I alone remained above to obtain a 
nearer view of the Isle of Caprae, which, from Naples had slept 
so tremulously lovely amid her sheen of cerulean setting. We 
passed between the isle and Point Campanelli, leaving Sorrenta 
and Castel a Mare behind. The top of Vesuvius, with her flag 
of smoke, darted behind the point. The farewell view of evanish- 
ing Naples, becomes more and more enchanting by distance, 
which robes its sky and water in azure hue. Caprae looked 
bleak and rocky. On the seaward side, I saw an arch formed 
by rocks in the sea, under which undulations of light and water 
flashed in rivalry of beauty. The Apennines range closely to 
tlie shore — indeed, their rocky barriers here shut in the sea. 
Huge palisades rising 3000 feet or more, broken into promontory, 
gorge, bay and inlet, guard the coast. The rocks were mantled 



186 SICILY AND MALTA. 

with a sort of yellow lichen. Here and there smiled spots of 
cultivation. We gradually diverged from these shores, leaving 
the Gulf of Salerno behind us, until we passed Point Palinurus, 
; whereabouts we watched a round and golden sun roll down his 
'' disk into the waves. The waves were lit into blazing splendor 
by his fire. A long line of dazzling, flashing radiance, swam 
upon the horizon, under a canopy of cloud impurpled and red, 
with long illumined cords and tassels dripping with sunlight 
down to the water's edge. The spray made by the steamer was 
as royally purple as the stole of the imperial Caesar. Soon the 
last tint of gold was softened into a rich mellow lustre of orange. 
Evening sobered down gradually into night. The flickering 
shadows of the air played between the eye and the distant hori- 
zon. A sunset upon the Mediterranean — is it not an object to be 
seen with rapture ? What pen can distil its beauty into expres- 
sion, or enthrall, by words, the tranquil spirit of the scene 1 

Yesterday morn I hurried on deck to see Stromboli with his 
column of fire, and ^^tna with his pillar of smoke and his top of 
snow. The last was just observable above the highlands of the 
northeast part of Sicily. We had passed the gulfs which form 
the instej) of the boot of Italy, in the night, and were now in the 
gulf of Grioja, approaching the veritable Scylla and the undoubted 
Charybdis ! The land and water, too, of classic memories, begin 
to appear as we draw near to Hellas and her Ionian isles. Scylla 
is a high rock, twelve miles from Massena. Here the dogs of 
Homer and Virgil barked in the caverns where the waves rolled 
around the fabulous monster. We did not, owing to the state 
of the tide, see any peculiar commotion, nor hear any peculiar 
sounds. The waves glistened blue and bright as ever they did 
to the eye of j.Eneas. The sailors had just washed the decks, 
and were busy burnishing the metallic portions. The whistle 
of the boatswain and the bustle of the sailors, the cries of the 
oflicers to the pilots, and the additional man at the wheel, be- 
tokened that more than ordinary precaution is still necessary, 
even with steam, to pass this point of classic terror. Our boat 



SICILY AND MALTA. 187 

moves on ; but no opening appears. All is rock-bound, save a 
sand bank, near a fort. This soon opens and displays the channel 
of Massena, which divides the toe of Italy's boot from the north- 
east of Sicily. It seems as if some convulsion of nature had 
torn this channel from the rocky range of the Apennines, leaving 
the twin of horrors on either side to guard the shores. Massena 
is in sight, and Charybdis with her slight whirl of waters, some 
600 feet from Massena, on the Sicilian side, attracts the eye. 
It is not a very great thing, although it plays such a " bloody 
bones" part in the hexameter. Hell-gate, at Long Island, is 
altogether more horrific. Indeed, since the Grenoese sailor struck 
out into the vexed Atlantic, putting to shame the Argonautic 
and the Ulyssean expeditions, these old haunts of monsters look 
like foolishness, especially from a steam boat. 

The head point of Sicily is a sandy beach, upon which are 
windowless houses, in a deserted fishing town. Massena is quite 
a pretty place, half hid under the shade of the rough, uneven 
mountains, orange-covered, yet bleak-looking, overtopping and 
surrounding the city. 

We pass under the guns of the fort, and are surrounded with 
a motley crew in boats. Degenerate Sicilians ! Ye who were 
once giants, and with your tread shook this volcanic (?) isle ; ye 
who were once Cyclops, and with single eye glared, and with 
heavy arm forged Jove's thunderbolts in the depths of the fires 
of -(Etna, Oh ! how have your glories been dimmed, since they 
shone in the imagination of the bard of Scio ! 

At breakfast we were clesserted with green almonds, yellow 
apricots, cherries, ripe pears and fresh figs. The latter had a 
mawkish sweet taste, a little like our paw-paws, which they re- 
semble in form and color. We begin to feel in the South. In- 
deed, we are in Homer's "isle of the sun." 

What vicissitudes, physical and historical, has not Sicily un- 
derwent ! Her first inhabitants were from Spain. She was sub- 
sequently held by Saracens, Turks, Spaniards. Austrians and 
French. The Bourbon house was replaced upon the throne in 



188 SICILY AND MALTA. 

1820. The Revolution of 1848 extended here. The marks of 
it, in the ruined forts, are still visible. Successful for some 
months, and separated from Naples, she was again, however, re- 
duced to the vassalage of Ferdinand II., the prince who now 
adorns the throne of Naples. 

After breakfast, we went on deck, when, looking astern, I 
observed our steamer on fire! The sails were ablaze ! I hardly 
knew, in my excitement, what to halloo, so I told an English 
friend near, whose ready French proved very serviceable. The 
sailors soon leaped amidst the rigging, tore the sails, and with 
water quenched the fire. This little incident leads me to re- 
mark upon the extraordinary safety of the boats here, compared 
with those at home. Human life is valued here much more than 
human liberty. Why cannot America at least learn a lesson in 
this regard from Europe 1 

In some respects we could well interchange some of our own 
manners and institutions for such knowledge. Let me exem- 
plify. Our bankers at Naples, correspondents of Barings, over- 
paid us $100 in gold, while paying £125! Such a mistake at 
home would soon dismiss the officer. But the truth is, the Ital- 
ians are utterly unfit for business Two hours will hardly an- 
swer for them to do what our brokers would do in ten minutes. 
Their bank at Naples was away up in the steeple of a church, 
not so high, quite, as Vesuvius. It was a trial to wait upon 
such business men. They are so absorbed by pleasure in the 
luxurious noiv. that providence seems wholly severed from their 
habits Irresponsible, and careless even of their souls' salvation, 
they yield themselves to the gayety of the day, and commit 
their future, here and hereafter, into the hands of chance, or 
what is worse, of the priests, whose ready absolution is a perfect 
salve for every wound. The genius of the West, and of the rug- 
ged North, seems to them a wild Quixotic adventure, to end in 
pain and trouble. " Heart within," they have not, only as it 
vibrates to the music of the festival, and the garlanding of flow- 
ers. " God o'er head," what or where is He, save that He is 



SICILY AND MALTA. 189 

enshrined in the visible images which are borne in the joyous 
procession ? He breathes not in the beauteous landscape, nor 
liquid depths, for them. His name, is but a name — to be re- 
peated in the prayer, and to be pulselessly dead at the heart. 

Before we leave Italy, let me generalize yet further. How 
apparent to a student of the elder civilization does it differ 
from our own civilization ! The old wholly absorbed the indi- 
vidual in the State. The new releases the individual from the 
State, in every country, except Italy, where the State is so inti- 
mately inwoven with religion There, religion enmeshes the 
individual, and binds his energies. It absorbs the most sturdy 
and active in its priesthood, and hands them over to the State 
as curious specimens of free agents, to be again restricted and 
bound. The old civilization withdrew men from the home-in- 
fluence to the temple, the forum, and the camp. The very con- 
struction of the domestic residences in Pompeii demonstrates 
how weak was the domestic tie. No such words as comfort or 
Jiome are known in the Grecian or Roman Lexicon. The oppo- 
site is the case with most countries at the present day. The 
domestic influence in Grermany, England and America, has in- 
formed the soul of the State. But in Italy the same out-door 
tendency pours its feeble rays of happiness, and sheds its glitter 
of gala pleasure. The priest stands between husband and wife, 
parent and child ; the little orifice of the confessional becomes 
the medium of confidence ; and even that confidence hangs by as 
brittle a thread as did the sword of Damocles. The State, as- 
sisted by the Church, yet binds down the enei'gies of the mass 
of Italy. The artists of Naples are honored by the King, for 
representing by the pencil and chisel. Religion shielding and 
supporting Ferdinand, while Justice smiles serenely upon the 
royal miscreant, who is represented as triumphantly trampling 
Constitutionalism under his feet. May we not hope that the 
people will yet burst irrepressibly their iron encasement, and 
stand forth throbbing in the liberty of individual independence ! 

Naples is yet hopelessly bound. The King has his moat- 



190 SICILY AND MALTA. 

surrounded forts, his trained bands, and his kind Austrian 
friends. These seem to be invincible ; but another Massaniella 
may arise even from the humble fishermen who drag the beauti- 
ful bay, and with a surer stroke decapitate the head of kingcraft 
in Naples. The govei-nment encourages pleasure and priestly 
rule; and thus renders the popular mind oblivious of all inhe- 
rent dignity and right. 

We passed to-day some spots sacred to the memory of the 
early Christians. " Paul after having been shipwrecked" in the 
ship from Alexandria (see Acts, chapter 28), upon the shore of 
Miletus, the present Malta, landed at Syracuse, and " tarried 
there three days," and from thence " he fetched a compass, and 
came to Rhcgium," which place we passed to-day. It was along 
these blue waves, and under the same warm sunlight, that the 
great Apostle followed his noble appeal unto Caesar, even to the 
eternal city itself ! But more thrilling still. I now write to you 
from the very isle of his shipwreck, and the very place where his 
eloquent tongue bade the inhuman sailors stay their hands : 
" Except these men abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved !" and 
he thus protected the four prisoners from death at the hands of 
their custodians ; the very spot where the viper fell innocuous 
into the fire, and where the simple barbarians proclaimed him 
in very deed a Deity ! 

Some doubts have arisen as to the identity of Malta with 
the Miletus of the Acts ; but the place where '• the two seas 
come together." can be no other. Controversy has settled upon 
Malta. 

Before we left Sicily, the sun went down over distant iEtna. 
Cape Mirro de Porci was left behind in a haze of splendor. 
Shakspeare has given to Syracuse, which floats in yonder dim 
light, a local habitation for his muse, and mathematicians hail 
it as the home of Archimedes. 

This morning we woke up in the rock-ribbed, trebly fortified 
harbor of Malta. The English flag — a relief to one's eyes — 
floated above us. The land of the Hospitaller and the Grand 



SfClLY AND AIALTA. I9I 

Master was around us. This island was given to the Knights by 
Charles V. after they had been driven out of Palestine. From 
the fifteenth century to the time of Napoleon, the Grand Masters 
ruled here, midway between the Christian and Moslem world. 
We have spent the day partly in looking at the strange tombs 
of the Knights of St. John and the Cathedral of that name. 
Yesterday was his festal day. The Cathedral was carpeted over 
with the orange leaves which hid the rich Mosaics. The great 
tapestries in which shines the life of the Saint, hung splendidly 
from the frescoed arches. We passed into the Armory, all 
around which the old knights, devoid of their bodies, stiff in 
their armor, seem to keep guard. Curious relics were there — 
flags and trophies won from Saracen by Knight, and ordnance 
of antique mould. The keys of Jerusalem hung rusty by the 
side of those of Acre and Rhodes. 

This city was taken by Napoleon on his route to Egypt, 
and the reign of the Grand Masters ceased. By voluntary 
annexation (a precedent for Texas) the isle was placed under 
British sway. But the quaint influence of the priestly soldier 
yet clings to each palace and church, giving strange and 
attractive features to each object around us. The order of the 
Knights was composed of persons from different European na- 
tions, distributed according to language. Their portraits in 
the Armory denote decision and devotion ; and their arms and 
armor bespeak, by dents and weight, a stalwart and doughty 
Knighthood. Here the last rays of the orb of chivalry lingered 
about the gown of the churchman, long after that orb had dis- 
appeared from the horizon. Here the hardest siege of modern 
history was sustained by the French, who in 1799, after two 
years' resistance, capitulated to Lord Nelson. 

The isle is barren and dry, occasionally siroccoed by south- 
west winds. Every class and every nation is here to be found ; 
a varied assemblage ; 

" Long-haired Sclavonian skipper with the red 
And scanty cap which ill protects his head; 



192 SICILY Ai\l> MALTA. 

■\Vlilte-kilted Suliot, gay and gilded Greek, 

Grave, turbancd Turk, and Moi.>r of swarthy cheek. 

We cannot throw off the influence of Malta so readily. We 
saw so much at the famous refuge of the Knights, so much 
illu.strative of the early struggles of the Crusaders to regain 
and to keep Palestine, so much illustrative of the exterminating 
wars between the Knights of St. John and the Templars, as 
well as between Christian and Turk, that it would take a long 
scroll to write it. 

Thi.s isle of Malta seems to be well governed by the British, 
but it is a nest of beggary. Such a group of beggars never be- 
set poor humanity, as clung to us when we emerged from our 
hotel. I had to beat them off' with my Vesuvius club, so impu- 
dently daring were they to our ladies as well as to ourselves. 
Before we left Malta harbor, a band of four fiddlers, smoking 
cigars, twanged all around our boat for coppers. Although the 
mate gave them a few splashes with the wheel occasionally to 
keep them off, and although his " Sacr-r-r-cs " rolled deep and 
long, still they rowed and fiddled, and fiddled and rowed, until 
our noble steamer drowned their harmony in its noise, as it 
moved out amid the eight forts of this invincible harbor. The 
involutions of these stony fabrics are wondrous. They were 
framed by the Grand Masters, one after the other, each trying 
to excel his predecessor, in giving strength to this last resort 
of chivalry against the Moslem foe. The open sea is angry and 
rough. Ten ships float in the offing, looking spectral and 
shadowy against the evening sky. They form the English fleet, 
which is hourly expected at Malta. 

The pitching of the vessel admonishes me to cease record- 
ing, and to retire — below. 

Farewell to Malta ! Athens — Athens — the home of the 
spiritually Beautiful is our promise, and thitherward we shall 
be wending, even though unconscious, in sleep. 



XIV. 

latjitns,— " tljt (Bill? nf fern/' 



" TRUTHS sereue 

Made visible in Beauty, that shall glow 
In everlasting freshness ; unapproaclied 
By mortal passion ; pure amidst the blood 
And dust of Conquest ; never wasing old. 
But on tlie stream of time, from age to ago 
Casting briglit images of heavenly youth, 
To make the world less mournful." 

TalJourdCi Atiienian Captive. 

THE heart throbbed wildly as the vessel ai:)proached the shores 
of Attica. Far diflfereut is its throbbing from that caused 
by the distant view of Rome. One was the citadel of power, 
physical and temporal, even in its grandest exhibition. The 
other is the citadel of power, intellectual and immortal. \ The 
shores of Greece as they frown upon the sea, are instinct with 
a genius which men will ever venerate. The general aspect of 
the shores of Attica is that of extreme barrenness and asperity, 
unrelieved by a single tree, and rarely by a shrub. There are 
uo level lawns or beautiful groves, with which poetry would in- 
vest the land of Homer and Plato. Cicero said truly of yon 
island far to our northward, and of its ruler Ulysses, that he 
loved Ithaca " non quia larga^ sed quia sua.'''' He might have 
extended the generalization so as to have included every Gre- 
cian ; and have added, " they loved not their country because it 
had any utti-active scenery, but simply because it was Greece." 
What Homer in his Odyssey says of Ithaca, may be truly said 
of all the Grecian coast. It is horrid with cliffs, with little or 
no herbage, allowing scarcely a mouthful to the mountain goat. 
9 



194 ATHE^S,-^-'- THE EYE OF GREECEr 

Greece is almost sea-surrounded. A small isthmus attaches 
Morea to the main land. How could such a barren soil become 
so great? Why do we gaze with such earnestness upon yon lit- 
tle neck of rocky earth between Mount Cithaeron and Cape Su- 
nium ? Why do we wander with rapture under the plane-trees, 
where Plato taught, or lean entranced against the Pentelic pil- 
lars of the Parthenon ? Why do we listen to the subtleties of 
Zeno from the portico ? What surrounds each statue with an 
auriole of light ; what covers each mountain with a glory like a 
God ? Why do nations meet here to mourn over ruins, and grow 
eloquent over dust ? Why are millions spent here in excavating 
the works of the dead past ? W^hy has an archaeological soci- 
ety exhumed the fragmentary pillars of the temples of old? 
Ch'eece was the thinking head and beating heart of the ivorld ; 
the first and brightest link in the genealogy of genius. The 
human mind here received its first great impulse, and it has ever 
since measured its advancement by the influence of literary men 
deeply read in the lore of Greece. The influence of letters over 
every other influence, is attested by every page of the world's 
annals ; but the annals of Greece are a complete unity of evi- 
dence, every line of which is instinct with a salutary influence. 

Can we help wondering that such a barren soil should have 
been so productive of great thoughts ? Let it be remembered 
that the very difficulty to be contended with, '• like a skilful 
wrestler, strengthened the nerves," and made the Spartans and 
Athenians, what they will ever remain, the sonl of Antiquity. 

We passed, at evening, the famous island of Cytheria, now 
called Cerigo. Dark clouds, with long fringes, floated grace- 
fully over Sparta. The hills are dark, and not ungracefully 
pencilled against the western sky. which glows in gold, here and 
there dimmed by wavy cloudlets. The purple light plays upon 
the foam of our gallant ship. How does the spirit recur to the 
past, and with that active race who lived upon yon shore, people 
the sky and earth and sea, with shapes of dreamlike beauty and 
austere dignity ! Even ihero upon that bleak island, which is 



ATEEN'S,—'^ TUB EYE OE GREECE:' I95 

now used as the Botany Bay of Ionia, it is fabled that the beau- 
tiful goddess of love had her favorite resort. There where 
Helen, the " source of all the woe of Troy," was born, the ge- 
nius of Greece imagined it saw the winged messengers of the 
goddess float in the purple light of love ; and here, amidst this 
cerulean sea, it saw the goddess herself arise — the conqueror of 
conquerors — the charm of Mars and the companion of Jove ! 

As night closes over the land of Lycurgus, it seems to lie 
solemn and severe in thoughtfulness. No gayety or delight, 
such as hovered around Naples, is present to break the spell. 
With what longing does the mind once accustomed to ponder 
the thoughts that breathed and burned in the classic pages of 
jEschylus and Thucydides — linger about those silent hills — the 
home of song and philosophy. 

Saturday morning found us at the Pireus. Its houses looked 
low and quite oriental. The stone as well as the sandy soil, 
was white and dazzling — the roofs are red. The most pic- 
turesque part of the view is the people in their peculiar cos- 
tume. We had a fine chance to study them. They thronged 
about our boat, before it had fairly stopped, in their little boats, 
eager for the drachmas. Dressed in their long red caps, with 
long purple tassels ; a finely-wrought waistcoat, of red or blue, 
very dark, over a white boddice ; and a flowing skirt around the 
body, snow-white and sashed ; together with elegant, tasselled 
leggings ; they formed a sculpturesque and picturesque group ! 
Some of the meaner kind were dressed in big baggy pants, 
which draggled in the dirt, and looked any thing but classical. 

A great contest was approaching, or was going on, as to who 
should be No. 1, in the forthcoming spoil of passengers. All 
were huddled around our gangway, when splash ! went the 
wheel of the steamboat ; and away went wet trowsers, and at 
high tide, darted all the boats into the bay. Then came the 
tug of Greek with Greek, to get to the place of fortune again. 
A second splas.h ! At last, an old Frenchman, with Madame and 
child, descend for a boat. A rush of boats takes place, and 



196 ATHENS—'' THE EYE OE GREECEr 

there follows a scene so novel in boating, to an American, that 
we transcribe it as a specimen of the manners of the descend- 
ants of Epaminondas and Pericles. Boat No. 1 catches Ma- 
dame as she descends, — the picture of the •' unprotected female" 
in Punch. While politely seating her, No. 2 seizes the old 
man, and drags him into his boat — he just escaping a cold bath. 
No. 1 runs up for the baggage, which Nos. 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 have 
seized, amidst terrific jabberings ; and which they seem deter- 
mined to divide piecemeal. Madame discovers her isolated 
state, and reaching out her arms frantically, screams, " Papa !" 
" Papa !" as no one but a Frenchwoman can. The young scion 
adds his treble. The guns fi-om the Greek man-of-war thunder- 
ing a reception to the French admiral, who had just left the 
other side of our boat for his ship, join the chorus. Amid this 
noise and the smoke, the din of Grrecian conflict continues. No. 
2 quickly joins his boat, and Madame and child tumble over 
into it. No. 1 returns to find his prey minus, discovers the tri- 
umph of No. 2, and makes a lurch at him for the robbery. 
They clinch, and over they roll, perfectly unconscious of the 
fickle elements below ; still, they somehow manage to keep in 
the boats. No. 3 rushes to the rescue ; knocks ofi" Madame's 
hat ; while the disapproving scion pummels him with his little 
fists. Madame screams. Nos. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, &c., rush to the 
melee, with oars, boat-hooks, and boots in air. The Laocoon 
was never so involuted as the twisting folds of these lithe Gre- 
cians. All is confusion. We stand above, laughing at the sin- 
gular scene, while its objects, the passengers, crawl ofi" into boat 
No. 9, and escape to the shore. Our ofiicers are kicking at the 
heads of the Grecians as they approach within range. At 
last, our mate suggests the old expedient, and buckets of cold 
water are plenteously rained in upon the fighting mass. The 
Greek man-of-war sends a boat of sailors to aid the hydropathic 
expedient ; and in peace we are permitted to land upon the 
shores of Greece. 

These Greeks bear the reputation of lying, cheating rascals. 



ATHENS,—'' THE EYE OE GREECE:' 197 

At every chance they take advantage of each other, as well as 
of strangers. They have a good share of enterprise. Those 
who come from the islands are especially sharp and active. But 
moral sensibility seems utterly imbruted among them. The 
same race who introduced by fraud the horse into Troy, — the 
same who pretended to leave Troy, and hid in that little isle of 
Tenedos, which we are approaching, — the same nation whose 
faitJi was a proverb for inconstancy, still people Attica. There 
is little to attract in the first glance at Greece. Every thing 
looks arid and dry. Ram they have not had for the three sum- 
mer months. The olives are the only trees, and they look dusty 
and parched. Some few years ago the snow laid nearly a whole 
day upon the ground about Athens, and killed the oranges and 
vines, while it withered the olive considerably. 

We learned at the Pireus that it would be impossible to go 
to Joppa before the middle or last of July, as the Austrian 
steamer does not leave till then. Consequently we shall have 
to omit our Jerusalem trip, and be satisfied with a visit to the 
Capital of the Ottoman. 

The kind and urbane missionary at the Pireus, Mr. Buel^ 
of the Baptist denomination, received us most cordially. We 
had a letter to him from our Consul at Malta. Mr. Buel offered 
to guide us among the ruins of x\thens, which off"er was readily 
accepted. A better guide never traveller rejoiced in. He is 
indeed a scholar and a Christian gentleman, and his life abroad 
is not without incident, which marks him as a man of earnest 
will and heroic devotion in the cause of liberty and gospel 
truth. 

Our country has reason to be proud of its missionaries here. 
Dr. King and Mr. Hill are tlie missionaries at Athens ; the 
former is of the American Board, and the latter, I believe, is an 
Episcopalian. Dr. King, as well as Mr. Buel, has been sub- 
jected to litigation and trouble, on account of the jealousy and 
intolerance of the Greek monks. These missionaries are the 
representatives of free discussion, guarantied by the Greek Con- 



198 ATHEN.%—'' THE EYE OE GREECEr 

stitution, but little known in its practical significance.* When 
pressed too bard by those in power, they have one argument 
which never fails them. It is an appeal to the '• stripes and 
stars." The other Sunday, some of the monks of the Greek 
Church, wishing to embroil Di-. King in a difficulty, repaired to 
his church, in company with a mob of students from the Univer- 
sity, apparently for the purpose of discussion. The Doctor had 
a full house. After proceeding in his sermon, he was interrupted 
by a monk, who wished to propound certain queries, the object 
of which was to draw out from Dr. King some expressions invid- 
ious to the Greek Church. The Doctor told him, that if he 
would come the next day he would answer him, as he did not 
desire a discussion at that time. But they would not be put oiF. 
Fierce gestures and threatenings followed, and they began to 
advance upon the Doctor. A few days before, a tin box with a 
flag containing quite a number of stripes, and more stars, had 
arrived at Athens for our Consul, and in his absence it was left 
with Dr. King, Consul ad interim. The Doctor's servant qui- 
etly slipped up stairs in the midst of the row, and while the 
students were advancing on the Doctor, returned with the flag, 
and spread it out from the pulpit ! Hurrah ! but 3'ou should 
have seen those scions of the heroes and demi-gods slink, like 
whipped sheep-dogs, out of the house. Not a word more, not a 
gesture, but a quiet sneak away from the republican Jlctg.^ told 

* Since my return to America, I Lave seen it stated that Dr. King had 
been arrested for an alleged reviling of the Greek religion ; that the Court 
below had found him guilty, but that the case had been removed to a higher 
tribunal. The final hearing was had on the 18th of December, 1851, when 
Mr. Pilikas, one of Dr. King's' lawyers, and pr)/tannis, or president of the 
University, maintained, in an able speech, that controversy was not I'eviling 
the Greek religion; and when he took occasion to pay several handsome 
compliments to America, as the home of free thought and free speech. If 
Dr. King should succeed, of which there is small hope, owing to the corrup- 
tion of the Court and the influence of the Government, it will be a triumph 
of civil and religious liberty worthy of that city where Socrates taught and 
Plato reasoned. 



ATHENS— ''THE EYE OF GREECE.-" I99 

more of the influence of true liberty than Greece has felt for 
many a long year. The ancient Greeks used to imagine a Hes- 
perian clime, beyond the pillars of Hercules, near the setting 
sun ; and Plato organized an imaginary commonwealth, where 
human passion played harmoniously and subordinately for the 
public weal, without jar or rupture. Out of such a clime, and 
from such a republic, an influence emanated as ideal as it was 
potent upon the soul of the plastic Grecian. May we not hope 
that an analagous influence, as real as it is potent, shall emanate 
from our own Hesperus, to mould anew the dynasties of corrupt 
power in this eastern world 'I 

When I left home I did not dream of going farther east 
than Rome. To be permitted to see the source of all that is 
beautiful in Art, glorious in Poetry, profound in Philosophy, 
and powerful in Eloquence, was a joy too great for my limited 
hope. But — I have stood upon the Acropolis ! Although I 
had been utterly oblivious of all my voyaging hither, yet I 
could have told immediately, that Attic elegance, even in its 
ruins, environed me, and that this was indeed the marvel of 
Taste, the adornment of Pericles, and the eye of Greece. 

Five miles through the plain, once covered with the homes 
of Athenians, now denu^ded of all save a few olive orchards and 
vineyards, bring us to the city from the Pireus. Formerly, the 
Pireus formed a part of Athens. A walled street connected 
them. A chariot course was upon these walls. You may re- 
member that Socrates used to go down to the Pireus, to talk 
with the unsophuticated whom he met there, and from whom 
he learned many of those familiar figures of speech which con- 
vey so aptly great truths. Few ruins line the way. The Par- 
thenon upon the Acropolis first catches the eye, and detains it 
to the last. Mr. Buel informed me that from his house in the 
Pireus, he could count its pillars, so clear is the glisten of the 
Pentelic marble in this transparent air. Far above the city 
looms up the Acropolis. From it, as from the elevated centre 
of a charmed circle, the eye may sweep the most soul-stirring 



200 ATHENS—'' THE EYE OF GKEEGEr 

scenery of the world, unless we except the view from the Mount 
of Olives. 

I had been led, by hearing an Englishman expressing his 
disgust of Athens and its relics, to expect but a meagre view of 
these hallowed scenes. Perhaps I owe the intense interest I 
took in these associations and localities, to the intelligent and 
communicative missionary who accompanied us. 

In ascending the Acropolis, we first stop at the temple of 
Theseus. It was built 465 b. c. Its parts are perfect still. 
The roof is modern. An earthquake has shaken it, doubtless, 
for the difi"erent portions of the pillars have been disturbed from 
their original base. Thirty-four beautiful Doric columns attest 
the grace and elegance of this style of architecture. On the 
eastern facade all the ten metopes are occupied with bass-reliefs, 
representing the labors of Hercules, whose friendship for Theseus 
is thus shown. The relics of the demi-god, Theseus, were brought 
here fi-om the isle of Skyros, and interred. 

The Theseum is but a stepping-stone, by which to ascend to 
greater beauties and more hallowed localities. What means 
this large area, braced around by immense hewn stones, so im- 
mense that it seems impossible that human might could have 
brought them here? Sixteen by ten feet in size, these stones 
range around the Pynx^ so called from their pressing the earth 
upward. Above, as it were in the most commanding point of 
the vicinity, is a solid, flinty rock, carved into a platform, with 
seats for different officers and the orators. We can hear from 
the farthest point of the Bema the ordinary conversation 
of our French friends, who have anticipated our ascent to 
this massive throne of the Grecian demus — the throne of Oratory 
and Statesmanshi|). The Bcma is turned from the sea to the 
inland. Formerly it was upon the summit of the hill, but so 
potent and thrilling were the allusions of the orators, as well as 
their gestures as they pointed out the naval scenes of triumph, 
that the thirty tyrants removed it further down. But it still 
commands a view of the Acropolis ; and that view furnished 



ATHENS,—'' THE EVE OF GREECE:' 201 

Demosteues with one of his finest allusions to the gods, who 
were ranged in statues above him upon the right, in his famous 
oration u^^on the crown. 

We stand upon the solid platform, where Demosthenes, Ni's- 
chines, and their compatriots, harangued the people. An area 
of 12.000 yards is about us. There is no doubt of the identity 
of this place, however problematical other places may be. There 
are two spots renowned, the one in sacred, and the other in pro- 
fane history, as to the particular identity of which, there cannot 
linger a possible shade of doubt. One is Jacob's well — the 
scene of the memorable conference between our Saviour and the 
Samaritan woman. It is dug in the solid rock. You may be 
sure when you stand over Jacob's well, that you are at least 
within a few feet of the spot where Jesus stood. The place of 
the Holy Sepulchre, of the crucifixion, of the ascension, and of 
the transfiguration, are all in darkness or doubt. About Jacob's 
well, Mahomedan, Jew, Christian, and Infidel, all agree. Not 
less certain is the spot marked as the Grecian Bema. When 
you stand there, you may be certain that you stand just where 
Demosthenes stood, when he hurled his torrent of indignation 
upon his ojipjouents, and shook, by his words of thunder, Artax- 
erxes' throne. From no spot in the world has emanated such 
winged words, freighted with so warm an enthusiasm, and so 
cogent a logic. It stirred the soul, to stand on this throne of 
oratory — to image forth the scene of that memorable day when 
uEschines — the polished actor of the theatre and the glosing 
courtier of the people, met the Prince of Orators in the question 
about the crown, and was forever whelmed in the popular ele- 
ment over which he had so often skimmed, volubly and grace- 
fully. From that fountain sprung the mighty flood of speech, 
which through ages has rolled on as it began, in a channel ever 
full, — never overflowing. Well did it merit the eulogium of 
Brougham, who loved himself to quaff" of its inspiring influence, 
" whether it rushed in a torrent of allusion, or moved along in a 
majestic exposition of enlarged principle, or descended hoarse 
9* 



202 ATHENS,—"' THE EYE OF GREECE.-" 

and headlong in overwhelming invective, or glided melodious in 
narrative and description, or spread itself out shining in illustra- 
tion — its course is ever onward, ever entire ; never scattered, 
never stagnant — never sluggish." Oh ! for one tone — oue living 
breath of the old oratory from this, its early altar ! Oh ! for 
one of those vehement anathemas against Philip, which have 
spread the fame of Grecian oratory through the long centuries 
and over wide seas and continents ; or even for one of his infe- 
rior harangues in favor of llhodian liberty, or upon the Classes, 
on the Halonesus, or for the regulation of the State ; each and 
all, compressed with energy and relevant with cogency ; ever 
pervaded by prayerful devotion to the gods and to his native 
city ! But we have no echo here of the mighty voice. Greece 
is pulseless, and no tone could arouse her now. With the great 
Past filling the charmed air, we can but stand and wonder — in 
silence ! 

Let us ascend that other hill of solid limestone yet nearer 
the Acropolis. The path upward is rough and uneven from the 
Bema ; although when Paul ascended it, to gratify the Athenian 
love of novelty, he doubtless surmounted Mar& Hill from the 
other side, where, worn by rain, yet still visible, are steps cut in 
the solid limestone. I sought my pocket Testament, for here 
was the spot of sacred oratory. 

Boys were flying kites from its summit. Donkeys and sheep 
were lying lazily around its base. Burs and thistles hang to 
each spot w^here vegetation may eke out its scanty subsistence. 
A tall, flinty cliff rises beyond the city of Athens, which is 
gathered into a small space below. The long olive plains spread 
out beneath the eye even to the sea. A column stands on a 
hill upon the right, still higher than Mars, erected to Philopopus 
in the first century. Before us is the Acropolis — the invincible 
and the beautiful — whose store of relics, with their tasteful de- 
corations, " empearl the starless ages" of the world. But here, 
upon this spot, first broke upon the world of philosophy, that 
light -which alone enunciates the principle of life and immor- 



ATHENS,— ^' THE EYE OF GREEUE.'" 203 

tality ; that gospel which cast into the shade all the logomachies 
of the schools and the discoveries of science, which reduces into 
nothingness even that beautiful system of unity and the highest 
improvement of reason, which Plato, walking beneath those 
green olives upon the left, and in the mellifluousness of his di- 
vine tongue, eliminated, unassisted by Revelation. What are 
they all, compared to the annunciation of Paul from Mars Hill, 
when he declared to the men of Athens, the unknown God, and 
that this God made the tvorld and all tilings tlicrein^ seeing 
that He is Lord of Heaven a7id earthy dwelling not in temples 
made ^vitJi hands ! To feel the force of this declaration, one 
must stand where Paul stood, and read it in view of the tem- 
ples, gorgeous and glistening, '-springing rounded to columns" 
from each mound and hill, and especially from that lofty hill to 
which he doubtless pointed, as he referred — crowned b}'' the 
most splendid architectural triumph of all time ! An ilhistra- 
tion thus forcible and striking, could not have fallen upon dull 
ears. It had its fruit, for we read that Dionysius, the Areopa- 
gite, was converted. 

There are traces of a church to St. Dionysius, below the north- 
east corner of the Areopagus, erected to commemorate his con- 
version. Upon the level of the hill, above the steps spoken of, 
at the southeast angle of the hill, is a bench, excavated in lime- 
stone, forming three sides of a quadrangle. It faces the south. 
The Areopagus sat here, it is said. Dark, dread, tribunal ; in 
its nightly sittings, uninfluenced by mercy, and hard as its ada- 
mantine seats to the approach of clemency ! 

The Parthenon rises majestically from its solid basis. Al- 
though the Venetian has been upon that basis and built his un- 
gainly towers ; although the bombs of the Turk, fragments of 
which we saw, have shattered many a beautiful capital and 
column ; although a magazine here exploded, tearing out the 
fine sides of this incomparable structure, yet there it stands 
the glory of the city, and the pride of the sea. The Acro- 
polis itself is 150 feet above the level of the plain. Upon 



204 ATBm'S,—'' THE EVE OF GKEECEP 

this is the Temple. In the temple was once the tall statue 
of Minerva, whose tall spear, tipped with a flag, was the first 
object which met the returning sailor, as he weathered Cape 
Sunium. The great plain of the old city spread around. Alas ! 
but a plain compared with that Athens which triumphed at 
Marathon, Salamis, and Platea. But the eye may yet trace the 
boundaries of the Academy and the Lyceum ; whose systems, false 
in many respects, detained, by their intellectual spell, the ad- 
vancing mind of the world for fifteen centuries. The bed of the 
missus — ha ! ha ! what a river for an American to look at ! 
The Sciota compared to it, is as the Mississippi to the Sciota. 
The classic stream is but a little dry run, shnmk into nothing, 
and hardly traceable. The Cephissus, which we crossed in 
coming to Athens from Pireus, is little larger, but rejoices in a 
sprinkle of water. Upon the west is the sea, with Salamis bay 
and isle. The Athenians could easily have seen from this point 
the battle of Salamis, where Themistocles covered himself with 
such glory as Grrecians alone knew how to bestow. His tomb 
still looks down, in lonely grandeur, upon the scene of his tri- 
umph. 

In an 023posite direction rise, in serene and dim beauty, the 
hill Colonos, and the Pentelic movintains, both known in the 
muse of Sophocles. The stadium, the space over which the 
charioteers burned to gain the goal, is spread out between us and 
the distant hills. The theatre of Bacchus, in which the drama of 
Greece was displayed with its furies, demi-gods, and gods — lies 
below, marked by a few columns. Other monuments, erected 
by the Romans, Hadrian's amphitheatre, and such like, are in a 
better state of preservation. 

The temple of Jupiter Olympus detains the eye longer. It 
was completed by a Roman emperor. Sixteen Corintliian col- 
umns yet remain to tell its superiority. Sixty feet high they 
tower ; while anciently they performed the circuit of 2.300 feet. 
The whole length of the building was 354 feet, and the number 
of columns was 120. Now as I look at its remains, the eye finds its 



ATHENS,—'' THE EYE OF GREECE:'' 205 

area covered by great stacks of wheat, in the process of thresh- 
ing. Men are superintending. This process was peculiar. Im- 
agine three cultivators, or corn harrows, with teeth turned back- 
ward ; these chained together, and a man on eacli ; drawn by 
horses trampling the straw, while men were engaged in stirring it 
up, and you have a very unscientific description of the threshing 
process. Women were riding the horses, and stirring the straw, 
assisting the work. A motley gi'oup that, in the temple of Ju- 
piter ! Why so much sti'aw here ? It is a ridiculous law, that 
every farmer shall bring his wheat or grain into one point fixed 
by the ofiicer, there to be threshed in his presence, so that gov- 
ernment may talx its toll ! American farmers ! how would 
you like that ? Jupiter Olympus ! Avould you not upset such a 
government in a jiffy ? 

A Spartan band were playing mo.st execrably under the lofty 
columns of Jupiter's temple. They had come as far as possible 
out of Athens, in order that they might not be heard. There 
is more harmony for the eye than the ear upon the Acropolis. 
The former has not yet been exhausted. The statues, fragments 
of tracery and inscriptions are gathered here. In each, even 
though broken and defaced, one may see that excellent device 
and wonderous slight, which formed so much to gratify the love 
of beauty. Many a lady at home admires an edging, or inter- 
jects in wonder over a figure in a ftibric, whose fine original peeps 
out of the broken Pentelic upon the Acropolis. Many a grace 
has been stolen by genius from these rude fragments, which 
now shines in fresh habilaments of stone in the villas of Italy 
and the homes of England. All the great eras of history ave dis- 
tinguished by some enthusiastic sentiment as a universal princi- 
ple of action. That period of Grecian glory when the distin- 
guishing sentiment was most prominent was that of Pericles ; 
and that sentiment was an intense love of the beautiful, not alone 
in form, but in idea. If a fane of alabaster rose gracefully un- 
der the enchanting sky, amid its groves of myrtles and olives, 
waving under the gentle breeze, there was also an answering 



206 ATHENS —'- THE EYE OE GBEECEr 

soul of beauty dilating under its shadows, at the vision of truth 
serene, spreading graces forth, and visible in their beauty. 

Plato — all radiant and divine ; what soul, unassisted by 
direct intercourse with its Maker, ever dared a bolder flight 
than his, toward that Christianity which God incarnate came to 
teach ! Did he not dedicate his youth at the feet of Socrates, 
and his old age in yonder grove, — the first fruits and the latter 
growth, — to the upbuilding of the fairest fabric which human 
Reason ever reared in honor of its Maker? Where is the rule 
of life, the sentiment of affection, the profound thought, which 
he has not touched and adorned ? Did he not probe the deepest 
truth in Nature, when he said : " Let us declare the cause which 
led the Supreme Ordainer to produce and compose the Universe. 
He was good ; and he who is good has no kind of envy. Ex- 
empt from envy, he wished that all things should be as much 
as possible like himself All things are for the sake of the good, 
and it is the cause of every thing beautiful." In one thing 
only did he fail. He gave no mithoritative rule of duty, for he 
was not commissioned from on high. Oh ! if his seraphic soul 
could have seen that glory which beamed in the mild star of 
Bethlehem, and could have listened to the eloquent Apostle 
from Mars Hill, as he dissipated the mists of all the schools, by 
declaring that '■ He gave to all, life and breath and all things," 
and that ''in Him Ave live and move and have our being," — what 
rapture would not his great mind have felt, what humility would 
have graced the seer of Academus ! 

Such reflections, and such like, have made our visit to Athens 
one of deepest interest. It is not the modern city — not the 
temples of Victory, of the Winds, of Bacchus, or ^of Jupiter 
even, — it is not the prison cut in the rock, and pointed out to us 
as the abode of Socrates in his last hours, — it is not the foun- 
tains and caves, not any external form of Nature or Art, which 
gives to Greece its never-dying spell of enchantment. Athens 
lies calmly beautiful to the mental eye, as the old haunt of 
Wisdom, Poetry, Oratory, Art, and Heroism. The eye se^ks 



ATIIEJS'S—'' THE EYE OF GREECE:' 207 

in vain for the " warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole ;" the 
Grecian jjhalanx no longer moves to the eye, and the Orators no 
longer spell-bind the people from the Bema ; but it is enough 
that here was once 

"The dome of Thought — the palace of the soul!" 

After examining the singular construction of the Parthenon, 
in which there is not a single straight line — strange though it 
seem — after measuring with the eye that singular adaptation, 
by which part is made to lean upon and support part, thus ren- 
dering a part equal in strength to the whole, — after sweeping the 
horizon again and again, and standing upon that ''lofty mountain 
thought" which rises out of the City of Minerva, we felt the 
spirit stretch into a view, so full of life, and splendor, and joy, 
that its transcript seems as impossible as its reality was sublime. 
One should stand upon the Acropolis, before boasting of having 
seen aught or felt aught elsewhere on this round globe. 

But I must descend. Our guide, the kind missionary, invites 
us to his house. While awaiting the hospitable tea, the sun 
sinks in gold below Salamis, and gentle airs are wafted over the 
Pireus. A Grecian tea it was — dainty and elegant. With the 
tea is taken delicate preserves made from the split leaves from 
the heart of the rose, and with the water, a sweet transparent 
paste called raltatUkmjii^ common in the Orient. But most we 
delight to remember the kindly grace and the genuine goodness 
of Mr. Buel, who saw us safely upon our boat, and regretfully left 
us to our eastern path. Had we remained longer with him, he 
promised us the pleasui-e of meeting Mrs Black, Byron's "Maid 
of Athens," and the daughter of Marco Bozzaris (pronounced 
Botezarris), who are his neighbors, and frequently spend their 
evenings with him. The former is now a respectable matron of 
a large family. The latter is no longer connected with the 
Queen's Court. 

Athens in itself has nothing striking in its appearance. It 
contains 23,000 people, but seems no larger than one of our or- 
dinary county scats. It lies in a triangular shape. I do not 



208 ATIIESS—'' THE EVE OF GREECE:' 

see Low they can pack so much humanity in it. But its streets 
are narrow. Men need no more house room here, however, than 
will serve as their couch. The shops are scanty and small. 
The baking is done at jjublic ovens, on the associated Fourier 
principle. There are plenty of carriages at Athens, and cheap ; 
but the roads are poor, the streets are dirty, and illy- 
paved and crooked. The foot-walks are about two feet wide. 
The people are a sad mixture of respectable and miserable; the 
latter predominating. They are mostly idlers ; busying them- 
selves as formerly, in "hearing and telling some new thing." 
Education is progressing. Many fine buildings for that pur- 
pose are being erected. The palace and its gardens stand out 
conspicuously in the treeless, sandy plain, upon the edge of the 
city. Water from the wells is constantly pumped by diligent 
donkeys, to irrigate the thirsty soil. The people depend on the 
goat for their milk and butter. Beef is an unknown luxury. 
Hymethus still yields her honeyed wealth, according to Byron. 
Perhaps it is a poetic license. There are no women apparent. 
It was daylight when we went through. They only appear, star- 
like, by night. These domestic items must now close. One 
should not judge too hastily of such things ; but to our hasty 
glance, Athens modern is to Athens ancient as the poorest 
fragment of an old statue is to the bright and symmetrical 
mould of a Phidias. 

The next morning found us darting around Cape Sunium, 
upon whose rocky steep the white columns of the temple of 
Minerva shine, and from which they look upon the sea. This 
temple was erected here to remind the voyager of the Goddess 
of Athens, at the very gate of Attica. 

I think, with Lamartine, that a tomb or temple fills the 
mind with holier thoughts and purer associations, when located, 
as is the tomb of Themistocles or the temple of Pallas, upon a 
lone and rocky promontory, — " afar from the city's troublous 
cries," — drawn in the clear air against the beautifully blue 
horizon, and rising instinct with Nature into closer communion 
with heaven. 



XV. 

fmm n! Imnrrr. 

"Oft of one wide expanse bail I been told 
That deep brow'd IIomkh ruled as his demesne." 

Xeats. 

WE are now on board the fine French steamer Egyptus, dodg- 
ing, by the cunning of steam, the isles of Greece, which rise 
in these bhie waters on all sides. We are playing between Ther- 
mia, named from its warm springs, and Zea, with Journa, the 
old Roman place of banishment, ahead. It will take nice navi- 
gation to extricate us from the complexity of these islands. But 
it is thrilling to career amidst these homes of ancient geniu.s. 
They seem to have been compensated, for the bleakness and 
barreness of their scenery, by the growth of men in the elder day. 
We shall, before long, see the isles where Homer and Sappho 
lived and sung, and where God appeared in rapt vision to the 
soul of John, the seer of Patmos, and opened to him those 
Revelations of Wonder, Glory, and Mystery, which form the 
Omega of the living word. 

It is verging toward midnight. I have just been on deck. 
The gallant steamer is shooting past the isle of Homer — the 
loveliest of the Archipelego — the most fruitful and picturesque 
of the isles of Greece — the celebrated Scio. It is called the 
Paradise of the Levant ; and well deserves the name for its 
extraordinary fertility, and beautiful foliage and scenery. This 
isle is under the dominion of the Ottoman, and the revenues it 
affords are dedicated to the support of the mother of Abd-ul- 
Mejid, the present Sultan, who lives in magnificence upon the 
banks of the Bosphorus. It is in strange contrast with the 



210 HOME OF HOMER. 

other isles of Greece ; which rise in rocky eminences and broken 
promontories from the sea. True, it suffered much in the Greek 
revolution. But its vineyards, its olives, its citrons and its 
mastic groves, then cut down, are again bespreading the island. 
The other isles afford but scanty homes for the goat. Man 
scarcely plants his foot upon the different spots we have passed 
to-day, but upon Scio he has revelled amidst the prodigality of 
Nature. The mastic is the chief object of cultivation. It is 
the product of the Lentisk shrub, which covers the hill slopes, 
and which, when cut, drops the liquid mastic. This is hardened, 
refined, and exported for the use of the Turkish ladies. But 
why speak of all this ? Is not this the isle of Homer 1 Of all 
the claims to the honor of his birthplace Scio has preferred the 
best. Beside, she is rich in other names. Ion the tragic poet, 
Theocritus the sophist, and Theopompus the historian, all hailed 
from this isle. But why distinguish Scio amidst such a frater- 
nity of isles, all rich in the associations of classical autirjuity, 

" Where gi-ew the tirts of war aud peace ; 

Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung. 
The Scian and the Teian Muse. 

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 
Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 

Their place of bh-th alone is mute 
To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sire's islands of the blest." 

Never did bard sing more truly. Our boat is full of Greeks. 
I have just walked amidst them — s/eeping upon the deck, utterly 
unconscious that they are passing the native spot of him. whose 
song has rung the name of Greece through two thousand years, 
and from continent to continent. The stars look down calmly 
and full of sparkle from their unclouded vault. The dark isle 
rises majestically upward, amidst their fretted fires. The 
Orient, with its deep and infinite splendors, fills the mind of the 
gazer, as he looks upward and eastward along that star-strewn 



HOME OF HOMER. 211 

path. Yonder, not far from the early home of Homer, is the 
ancient Troy, around whose walls the scenes of Epic glory took 
place, with ^eities for actors and witnesses, which the Bard has 
reduced into numbers as enduring as his own name. Fit vantage 
ground was Scio, whence the young poet might view the scene of 
his own future triumphs in Poesy ; fit school wherein to nurture 
that imagination which dared no flight it did not attain. Per- 
haps from that round point of rock tufted with yellow verdure, 
just opposite our vessel, "he beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey, 
rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea." There, might have 
been kindled the first spark of that genius which outlives the 
triumphs of all Conquerors. 

Thanks to thee, Old Shore ! Thou who wert the parent of 
art, and gave that Homer to time, which time has given to our 
modern world ! These isles while they furnished rocks and hills, 
bays and mountains, as the haunts of his muse ; yon rocky shore 
which we have left behind us, while it furnished the cloud-capped 
Olympus towering upward amid fraternal mounts, for his heroes 
and gods, also cherished his minstrelsy. Athens received his 
Epos ; her philosophers criticised it, in unity and part ; her 
orators quoted it ; her Olympic games echoed its song ; her drama 
was moulded by it ; her sculptors formed its images and her 
architects enshrined them in Parthenons and Theseums. Rome 
gave to him apotheosis, before which power bowed in wonder, 
love and awe. Alexandria hid his works in hieroglyphs, but at 
last redeemed the ancient fame of Egypt by transmitting them 
to us in their present form. What would painting have been 
without the Venus and Diana ; sculpture without the Apollo 
and Jove ; or art without the Iliad ? Legislation, too, while it 
cherished his works, found in them the spirit of its best enact- 
ments. The literature of the world owes to them its Virgil, 
Dante, Ariosto, Tasso, Milton, Wieland, Klopstock, its Henriade 
and Auraucana ! 

We are apt to look upon Homer, only as a singer, whose 
songs have no practical bearing upon the world. To the philo- 



212 HOME OF HOM^R. 

sophical historian, they have cleepci* significance. True, their 
first effect was the introduction of other songs, and, in time, a 
superior literature in Grreece. But this literature^oroved the 
salvation of even Christendom. If the classics were the bulwarks 
around the city of God, laid by the ancients through their own 
history, is not Homer the strongest tower of defence upon that 
bulwark? The study of Platonism and of the ethics of the rival 
school of Aristotle, burned in the cloisters of the dark ages, 
when even Christian truth was almost gone out. The destruc- 
tion of Byzantium scattered the Grecian literature. The key 
to the New Testament thus found its way into Florence under 
the Medici, and into Wittenberg under the elector, until Protest- 
antism had her lion-hearted Luther. Catholicism her sarcastic 
Erasmus, and the world its mild Melancthon and fervent Fenelon. 
England had her Duns Scotus, whose scholastic learning was ex- 
haustless, and who gathered around him thirty thousand students 
at Oxford, where he taught them the logic of Aristotle, with a 
power which drew forth the encomium, '• had the genius of Aris- 
totle been unknown, that of Scotus could have supplied his place." 
And it was the ethics of Aristotle, thus taught, which brightened 
the mind of Wyckliffe, and gave to England her first translation 
of the Bible, and the reformation. To this Bible and this refor- 
mation America owes her present proud position. They unlocked 
the prisons of power. They unloosed the disfranchised people. 
The individual was rescued from the congealed hierarchy. The 
liberties of speech ; body; property and conscience were enunci- 
ated ; and to Homer in the last analysis belongs a great part of 
the glory ! Ah ! if the shade of Homer could sec (we trust his 
shade is better off than the original corpus) this steamer of ours, 
with its poetry of motion, parting the waves more fleetly tlian 
his most arrowy pinnace, and working more fearfully powerful 
than his most potent engine against the Trojan wall ; if he could 
see this jihase of a new civilization, his visions of Olympus and 
dreams of Divinities, would vanish before the solid workmanship 
of his own brother man. 



no ME OF HOMER. 213 

What avails this pondering % Onward we move ; the French 
flag waves in the wind ; the black guns, like sleeping lions, lie 
about the deck ; the huge pipe emits its clouds of smoke ; the 
illuminated compass directs the silent helmsmen ; the place of 
Homer's birth is mute and silent under the shadow of night ; a 
small " echo further west" than even the blest isles, remembers 
the blind old bard in his fugitive pencillings ; and we — dart 
away to new scenes and other shores. 



XVI. 

€liB Imx\ nf ^Hajinmrtnnisiii. 

" Ilis eye looked o'er the dark, blue water, 

That swiftly glides and gently swells* 
Between the winding Dardanelles." 

Byron. 

"ITyE have seen the Orient, if not Jerusalem. Smyrna, where 
V V one of the seven churches was located, and the point whence 
fruit is exported and where the camels bring the resources of 
Syria to market, was seen and enjoyed. Its figs and chibouques; 
its dirt and its dignity; its dogs and donkeys; its dreariness and 
picturesqueness, were all seen and felt in one day's stay ; and 
our vessel turned her prow toward Constantinople, where Orient- 
alism swells in complete luxuriousness under the dominion of 
the dervishes and the Sultan. We entered the Dardanelles about 
evening, having passed the isle of Mitylene, or Lesbos, (Sappho's 
birthplace), and having had a glimpse of the great mountain 
of Athos, rising out of the sea beyond the isle of Lemnos. The 
Dardanelles is generally as wide as the Mississippi, with a 
strong current toward the Mediterranean from the sea of Mar- 
mora. The land is fine, rolling and cultivated ; and here and 
there we meet with enterprising and beautiful villages on the 
Asiatic and European sides of the straits. Our boat stopped 
some two hours at the city of Dardanelles, where there are 
numerous castles, as outposts of defence to Constantinople. 
The castles are supposed to be the ancient sites of Abydos and 
Sestos. A strip of stony shore, projecting between two high 
cliffs, furnished the European extremity of Xerxes' bridge, by 
which he crossed from Asia to the invasion of Greece. This 
part of the Dardanelles is also celebrated as the point where 



rilE HEART OF MAHOMETAN ISM. 215 

Alexander's army, under Parmenio, crossed from Europe to 
Asia. Here, too, the Ottoman first began his inroad upon 
Europe, in the fourteenth century, under Suliemau. Here 
" Leander swam the Hellespont " to visit his Hero, and Lord 
Byron did the same in one hour and ten minutes, and wrote 
poetry to herald the feat to posterity. 

Before leaving the Dardanelles, I made a singular acquaint- 
ance. It was none other than that of a Bey^ He observed me 
examining a map of Constantinople, and politely undertook 
some explanations. As I could not understand Turkish nor he 
English, we had a pleasant time of it — very, until I got a book 
which contained words of both tongues, when we amused each 
other by reciprocating the pronunciation of words. He had a 
large number of servants, and sat on his fine mat, smoking his 
chibouque, the ashes of which were emptied and the tobacco sup- 
lied by a servant, from time to time. The tube of the pipe con- 
descended to rest some feet from his mouth in a shining pan. 
The Turk always carries a comboloio, or rosary of beads, to 
assist conversation. What assistance these black beads, which 
travel over the henna-stained fingers of the lady and the efi"emi- 
nate hand of the gentleman of the Orient, render in the inter- 
change of sentiment, those may understand who feel nonplussed 
in conversation, without the aid of a watch-key in their hands 
or a cane head in their mouths. The Spanish lady resorts to a 
similar inspiration, by the unfolding of her fan and a coquettish 
snap as she closes it. The Turk, however, converses but little. 
He prefers a passive occupation. His favorite pastime is back- 
gammon, a board of which our Bey carried along. It is a great 
game with the luxurious idlers of the Capital, who stake large 
sums on their success. He was particularly sharp in it, as one 
of our ladies can testify, with whom he played. I have not seen 
as fine a gentleman since coming among the Turks. We gave 
him an invitation to America. He said he would call on us at 
our Hotel. Would like to have him bring a dozen or so of the 
Mrs. Bevs alonff, 



216 THE HEART OF MAHOMETAXISM. 

. We found, on approaching Constantinople, many active busi- 
ness places, and we were surprised to see furnaces with tall 
chimneys, smoking in earnest. These elements of progress were 
soon left behind, however. Forts and walls begin to indicate 
that we were passing out of the sea of Marmora into the Bos- 
phorus. We ran between the city of Scutari, in Asia, and Con- 
stantinople, on the European side, and turned around the point 
into the river called the Golden Horn, which divides the city 
proper from Para — the place for the Franks, Ambassadors, and 
Hotels. Our first view of this magnificent panorama was a dis- 
appointment. We had heard and read much of the view of this 
famous city, with its towers and domes, beaming and golden. A 
fog hid the city at first. Before we rounded the point, dis- 
appointment began to be dissipated with the mist. The expand- 
ing splendors opened. The minarets pointed upward, the 
cupolas swelled brightly amidst rising eminences of buildings 
stretching along the hill slopes, and unfolding brilliant involu- 
tions, as we rounded the point where the Seraglio rose, like a 
dream, out of the clear waters, and where Saint Sophia, the 
graceful Queen of a thousand beauteous mosques, gathered her 
cluster of minarets and domes. I have seen the vision, since, 
and know it to be real. Enchantment held her fairy wand be- 
fore my eye at the first glance, and in the joyful amazement, I 
could not observe, only wonder — fearful that the dream would 
be dissolved, like magic views. 

The green foliage of the cypress, interspersed as it always is 
in the Moslem cities, adds to the charm. The mirror of the 
Bosphorus, ranged around with the unique palaces of the 
pashas, and the marble, yet airy seraglio, together with roj'al 
abodes of gorgeousness, reflects three large and distinct cities, 
each enormous, and each divided by its own silver waters sleep- 
ing at its feet. One half of the magic ring is set within the 
hills of Asia, and the other half within those of Europe. Far 
beyond Scutari is spread the long range of Olympus, glistening 
under the warm sun, with snow, and hanging like pure clouds 
of white in the deep sky. 



THE HEART OF MAHOMETANISM. 217 

A finer harbor could not be conceived. The Bosphorus flows 
between two promontories, separating the Stamboul from Para, 
Galata, and Tophane. The largest man-of-war can here float ; 
while around, over a space which can accommodate 1,200 sail of 
the line, eighty thousand little boats, called caiques, and resem- 
bling the canoe somewhat in its sharp point and feathery levity, 
dart with graceful facility. These are the hackney coaches and 
cabs which play over the silver limpid streets of this wondrous 
city of cities. These boats are called by the natives kerlongist, 
or swallow-boats, and are formed of the thin 2)lanks of beech 
wood. They are always dry and neat, and carved within and 
without. It is dainty work to ride in them, as they are as liable 
as a canoe to upset. Cushions upon the bottom, in Eastern 
style, is the mode. It is a delicious, cool ride, after threading 
the mazes of the dirty streets of the city, as we have had abun- 
dant cause to remember. You may fancy what these cities are, 
in one grand view ; which requires 80,000 boats around the 
quays. 

It would be unjust to expect a description of this city. Our 
stay in it must be limited to a few days : and these will be filled 
with laborious sight-seeing. I must leave much to your imagin- 
ation, and use the suggestive style. No place can have more 
attractions just now for the traveller, than this half-way point 
between two extremes of civilization. Society is in the transi- 
tion state. The old prejudices of the Moslem are giving way 
slowly before the progress of the age. Here, where Mahomet 
holds imperious sway, and where the Sovereign revels like a 
Sardanapalus in the most gorgeous palaces, and rejoices in his 
wives by the hundred ; here, where the intolerant Mussulman 
prays five times daily, and holds his Ramazan with more than 
Puritan rigidity — here there is a leaven working which is des- 
tined to leaven the whole lump of that strange mixture of heaven 
and earth, goodness and badness, which emanates from the Koran 
and fills all Moslcmdom. 

No city has had wilder vicissitudes of fortune than this ; and 
10 



218 THE HEART OF MAIIOMETANISM. 

withstood them all. The sieges it has undergone triumphantly 
number twenty-four ! It has been taken six times ! Alcibiades, 
Severus, Constantine, Dandolo, Paleologos and Mahomet II., 
severally succeeded in entering its harbors and gates. These 
clear waters and swelling hills ; those lofty heights of snow, and 
yon " golden horn" of plenty — have they not looked alike, more 
tolerant than its several tenants, upon the Grecian Commander 
and the Roman Emi^eror ; the Persian Chosroes and Arabian 
Califs ; Venetian Doges and French Counts ; Bulgarian Krales 
and Avariau Chakars, Sclavonian Despots, and last and longest, 
Ottoman Sultans. And when Bonaparte's prophecy shall find 
fulfilment, and Europe shall become Cossack, may not Saint 
Sophia again rejoice in its old Greek worship, and that glittering 
Seraglio, with its golden towers, echo the iron tread of the 
Czar ! 

But this is a little too fast. Europe must play " teeter -tawtcr'''' 
over the balance of power for many a year yet, until some new 
Napoleon shall arise to upset all balances, or the people, the true 
Napoleons of the Empire, can assert their popular sovereignties, 
and bring government to its proper sphere, as the protector of 
the mass, and not the pamperer of the pride of a few. 

The romance of Constantinople dies as soon as you begin to 
thread its dirty, splashy, bad paved, narrow, doggy, donkeyfied, 
carriageless, up-and-down streets. There is not a back alley in 
New York, which is not better than the best street here ; and 
the comparison is an insult to the city. In going along, you 
cannot look at any thing, for fear of having your head cracked 
against the burden of some donkey, or the load of some broad- 
shouldered carrier ; or forfear of treading upon one of the many 
thousand brindle dogs, who act the part of scavengers by day, 
and play that of howling dervishes by night. If dodging these 
and the innumerous criers with heads full of dainties and fruits ; 
if missing the red-capped and brown-robed Jew ; the long curly 
black-hatted Persian ; the wily Armenian, and the turbaned 
Turk ; if you are not run over by that mounted Pasha, attended 



THE HEART OF MAHOMETANL^M. 219 

by his slave on foot ; if you do not run over those clumsy look- 
ing women in yellow boots and blue mantles, with head envel- 
oped (save eyes) in white crape — being both black and white, — 
Turkish ladies and their Nubian slaves ; if perchance you avoid 
that solitary gold-figured vehicle drawn by one horse, and called 
a carriage, which comes thundering along, attracting as much 
attention as a menagerie in High-street, Columbus ; if unsplashed 
and with sane mind, amidst the heathenish howls and cries, and 
with sane body, amidst the opposing currents of the barbarous 
thoroughfares, you reach your hotel, you may draw a breath as 
long and free as mine at the end of this longitudinous sentence. 

Our time, while here, has been occupied in driving about the 
city and environs in the carriage of our kind vice-consul, Mr. 
Dainese, an Italian by birth, and a noble-hearted liberal. Mr. 
Marsh is absent. Every possible attention, however, that we 
could require has been shown us. We were furnished by him 
with a firman and government officer, wherewith to visit the 
mosques, and in company with Jews, French and English, started 
out boldly. It was a little doubtful whether we could obtain 
admission or not, as it is now what is called Ramazan time with 
the Mahometans. This is a sacred time, which lasts for thirty 
days, during which all good Mussulmen are not allowed to eat, 
drink, smoke or snuff all day. They sleep mostly during the day, 
and at night begin the work of smoking and feasting. The 
mosques are filled day and night. It is Lent, and wretchedly 
do they look who keep it. It is a little doubtful whether it is 
kept strictly. Were it kept, you would see more miserable 
sights upon the Bosphorus, where the poor Moslems row all day, 
earning their bread by the sweat of their brow. At night the 
coffee-houses are crowded with Turks, who wait not to eat, be- 
fore they take the chibouque, and puff away clouds of incense to 
the prophet. 

Well, as I said, we started for the mosques. But first we 
were taken across the stream to the famous Seraglio. There 
we had to draw boots, or put on sacred sheep-skin slippers over 



22a ^'^^^' HEART OF MAHOMETAXlSM. 

them. A ridiculous plight we figured, slipping along the marble 
floors, wending our way through apartment after apartment, under 
roofs of fretted gold and many-shaped glass. Fountains, with 
golden fishes gliding in their basins, cooled the rooms. Elegant 
tracery and ornaments : ottomans of rarest richness ; places for 
coffee, for smoking, fur repose ; a view of the Bosphorus and of 
verdurous gardens full of fragrance and flowers — everywhere told 
us of the dreamy Orient, and that here was the very select home 
of indolence, ease, luxury and — Eunuchs ! We went into the 
harem ; but the birds had flown across into Asia, where they 
were caged in one of the other (he has dozens) palaces of the 
Sultan. The wicker was there still ; and the long gallery was 
hung with landscapes of every scene and clime — a gift to the 
harem by Reschid Pasha. — Here the Sultanas took their airings 
and peeped out into the free world. Poor prisoners in golden 
chains ! Flowers bloom at your very windows, but ye cannot 
pluck them. Heaven arches how lovingly above you ; but ye 
are the thoughtless slaves of the grossest scnsualitj-, cribbed and 
cabined in these walls — no longer children of nature as God 
made ye ! 

Finally we came into splendid flower and fruit gardens — 
tastefully arbored and arched with the gi'een architecture, in 
multiform beauty, on every side. The walls wei-e tapestried and 
festooned with flowers and running shrubs. The Turks, more 
kind than the Italians, freely permitted us to carry away bouquets. 
We learned that the associations connected with the Seraglio, 
have not rendered it a favorite resort of the present Sultan ; for 
it was here in the time of his father, that the Janizaries com- 
mitted their acts of cruelty, which the lofty walls of the Seraglio 
were not strong enough to check. But no such associations dis- 
turbed our enjoyment. The fragrance of the mind will ever 
arise as each impression of these scenes of oriental and regal 
enchantment is renewed by memory. 

After visiting the armory, we went to the Mosque of St. 
Sophia — the most splendid fabric (except St. Peter's) in the 



THE HEART OF MAII03IETANISM. 221 

•world. While we stood in espectancy of admission, with our 
slippers in hand, we were astonished at the appearance of a Nu- 
bian slave, with a whip or cane, and possessed with a devil, a 
shade or so blacker than himself. He was in an agony of inspi- 
ration — sent by the priests to drive the infidels away, and well 
he performed the office — the black rascal ! As our guide trans- 
lated it freely to me, he told the firman and the prime minister's 
officer, that it was Ramazan ; that he should go to h — 1; that 
he brought the Giaours here (meaning us well-behaved Chris- 
tians), and if he did not leave, some terrible imprecation would 
fall on his head. He accompanied his words with blows from 
the cane over the firman's shoulders, who bowed and scraped, 
saying his " salaam cjj'endi'' (thanks, gentleman !) ; and not daring 
to drop the Nubian, for fear of the priests, five hundred of whom 
would have rushed out to help their slave. Quite a mob of 
Moslems had collected. We left rather incontinently. To- 
morrow, early, we try it again, I trust with better success. 

It is our national birthday. Although we are now at the 
extremest point of our journey, and nearly 7,500 miles from our 
beloved land, yet the memory of its glad patriotism, bursting 
from millions of hearts in unison with our own, brings us closely 
home again. I will not devote my chapter to any raptures or 
gratulations over my native land. These would, however, come 
deeper and fuller from the heart of the jnlgrim^ than from the 
home-citizen. Our nation has so much to thank God for, that 
none but a traveller can feelingly and fully raise the orison. 

We kept the 4th of July, by looking at the Sultan. We 
rowed across the Bosphorus, and were rejoiced to find ourselves 
in time to see him returning out of the mosque. He is obliged 
to show himself to the people every Friday, and always at fires, 
if the alarm does not cease within a certain time. To-day he 
was mounted on a splendid white charger, caparisoned in gold, 
and rode very languidly, yet not without the grace which betrays 
the Saracenic origin, between his files of soldiers and subjects. 
We were permitted by the officers to stand even before some 



222 THE HEART OF MAEOMETANISM. 

pashas, as we were travellers ; and saw liim very well. His ap- 
pearance is prepossessing. He has an unshorn face, rather pale, 
with mild, dark, and very small eyes. A sort of indolent dreami- 
ness played about his lips and in his eye, indicating his character, 
which is that of a mild, kind-hearted prince, careless of politics 
and given up to pleasure. He devotes only some three hours 
a day to the affairs of his empire, and the rest of his time to 
his religious devotions, to the supervision of his palaces, which 
in modern European style are rising on the banks of the Bospho- 
rus, to the society of his brother, mother and son, and no doubt 
a considerable time to the gallantries and attentions incumbent 
upon him as the head of a harem of four hundred ladies, into 
which no male is ever allowed to intrude, except the eunuchs, 
who number about seventy. 

The Sultan is well beloved by the people, whose interests 
his government has' favored. His manners are said to be unas- 
suming and plain, and his disposition frank and amiable. He 
is not too good natured, however, to discriminate, for he always 
selects men of skill and science for the rewards and honors of 
the kingdom. His age is twenty-nine. A long life of useful- 
ness may yet be his. His health was formerly precarious ; and 
even now he appears effeminate and weak. He reminded me of 
the portraits I saw of Charles the Second of England. The dis- 
tinguished part which Turkey has taken lately in the politics of 
Europe, has been owing to the ability and foi-esight of Reschid 
Pasha, the Prime Minister. 

An Englishman remarked at our table, that "he always took 
off his hat to crowned heads, and that he must do it when the 
Sultan appeared." Oh!' Spooneydom and Flunkeydom ! — as 
Carlyle would say — are ye not dead yet ? Did ye not die, poor 
wooden heads ! when Hogland turned off her vagabond Stuarts 
to spout to the winds their divhio jure ? No. I saw your em- 
bodiment to-day doff his beaver to the " crowned head ;" and 
poor dunderbrain ! he thought it was right loyal and good of 
him. T took off my poor straw hat. too ; but it was on compul- 



THE HEART OF MAHOMETANISM. 223 

sion. Like Pickwick at the training, I was between two files of 
soldiers with fixed bayonets, and received admonition which I 
heeded, until I happened to think it was the 4th of July ! and 
then I covered my republican pate, instauter. 

It was quite antique and interesting to see the Sultan's train, 
led by a eunuch, whose lips would weigh less than ten pounds, 
(including teeth) and jetty dark, with a splendid robe and golden 
sword. Bringing up the rear came the petitioners, with their 
petitions in hand, following the Sultan to the palace, there to 
deliver them. It reminded me of what I had read of Oriental- 
ism, in its regal phases. It was one of those ancient customs, 
which the progressive spirit of the time has not eradicated. 
The changes which have been wrought in the Ottoman Empire 
and in the East generally, since Napoleon directed the genius of 
his Power hitherward, have been momentous. His enterprise 
was of little practical utility at the time ; but it opened the 
richest portions of the earth to the eyes of the French, Russian, 
and English ; and by their respective cupidity the Turkish 
power has been rendered less liable to aggression from either, 
and more formidable to all. Beside, steam has carried com- 
merce to its primeval marts where Tyre and Sidon once 
flourished, and over these sacred spots where rove the Arab 
hordes. The reactionary influence of the west of Europe upon 
the East, rendered imperative by the possessions of England in 
India, of Russia in Circassia, and Franco in northern Africa, and 
by which the Oriental nations will be constantly aroused to im- 
provement, is already evident in the augmentation of trade at 
Alexandria, Smyrna, in the Bosphorus, and in the Red Sea, and 
in the constant communication of travellers with the inhabitants 
of these most interesting countries. May we not hope that the 
new elements of our age, entering into the social organizations of 
the East, shall give again to this land that conspicuous greatness 
which God allotted to it when our world was young ! 



XVII. 

% f nhfH VtM iifinn tjjp cDririit. 

" C'liarm'd magic casements, opening on tlie foam, 
Of perilous seas in faery lands." 

Keais. 

PAINTERS have been known to confess that in copying one 
of Rembrandt's portraits, whose peculiarity is the darkness 
of the face silvered over with delicate lights, hundreds of the 
most exquisite lineaments were taken off, and still the likeness 
was not caught. The microscope was applied ; and lo ! another 
and yet another " gloomy light much like a shade" appeared, 
which being transferred to the copy, the expression came at once. 
So I think it is, in men's observation vipon manners and things 
in travelling. We cannot reproduce the original as it gleams 
upon the eye. Hundreds of minute features may be transcribed, 
but the original still lies in its chiara obscura like a Rembrandt, 
until you apply a woman's microscopic eye to the object, when 
the lineaments come forth, and the expression is happily trans- 
ferred. Men lack that circitmstantialness which women possess? 
and by which the latter picture with fidelity, if they do not color 
as highly. In our visit to the East, I have relied upon a lady- 
companion to apply the microscope, while my pen has been en- 
gaged in roving around from hill to hill and from sea to sea, from 
isle to isle and from shore to shore. The particularity of the 
description of the Seraglio, as well as of the visit to the Sweet 
Waters, will form a complement to my poor chapter, and complete 
its unity. Need I apologize for departing from the ordinary 
routine of book -making, by inserting the impressions of piother ? 
Will not the ladies at least give their sex a hearing ? It is rare 



.4 LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 225 

that a Buckeye daughter rambles amidst the camel-crowded 
streets of the mosque-adorned cities of the East ; and her pen- 
cillings in familiar style ; — vfkW — well, they must sj^eak for them- 
selves, which they do, as follows : 

Could I convey to the reader on paj^er a conversation which 
occurred this morning, it might somewhat account for this ven- 
turous chapter. I may, at least, confess thus much, that it is 
somewhat " on compulsion, Hal." My jiages may, or may not, 
contain that which is novel ; if not, they at least will be a novel- 
ty, journeying so far to greet you. Can it be possible that such 
a distance lies between us and our homes 1 We have seen so 
much, and yet have hastened hither with such incredible speed, 
that Time and Space have alike been annihilated. 

The i-eader has, I think, been advised of our wanderings, so 
long as we wci*e within the precincts of the European world. 
Shall it be my pleasure, now, to chat awhile of the Orient ? We 
found the first touches of Orientalism in Greece — but it did 
not strike us so peculiarly as it has since, in cities farther east. 
Greece we visited for its ruins, and were amply repaid in the 
view from the Acropolis alone, with its surrounding Forum and 
Mars Hill, the temples and battle-scenes, and the whole spirit of 
the scenery which beams with delicacy, refinement and taste. I 
cannot leave Greece, however, without remembering the parting 
meal which we took with our kind friend Mr. Buel, the Baptist 
Missionary. After the fatigues of the day at Athens, we re- 
turned to his house at the Pireus, which, as well as the repast, 
impressed us so kindly and peculiarly, that I would fain remem- 
ber them both in expression and thought ; both were so Grecian, 
and yet so home-like. The house is a fine two-story one, with 
an entrance into a vestibule — a stairway on either side, leading 
to a common landing, half way up, which ends in a stairway turn- 
ing to the centre of the room above. Folding doors open into 
a room large and airy, with walls and ceiling fitted up after the 
manner of those at Pompeii. A double window opens out upon 
a balcony ; from which we viewed a charming sunset, all golden 
10* 



226 -^ LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

and radiant in beauty over the bay of Salamis, as well as the 
form of a lion couchant, cut out of the mountain against the dis- 
tant sky. A bedroom opened on Cne side and a studio on the 
other ; both having doors to the stairway. The three rooms 
consequently possessed a front view of one of the finest water 
scenes we have seen, always excepting Naples ; — and that scene 
rendered doubly and thrillingly attractive, as the place where 
Themistocles triumphed and Gri"eece was saved. 

Mr. Buel had been distributing the ten commandments du- 
ring a festival of the Greek church, and was thus the innocent 
cause of a mob at Corfu ; and though he was under the pro- 
tection of the authorities, yet the influence of the priests was so 
great that he was obliged to leave the island at short notice for 
Malta ; from thence he came to Smyrna, and then to the Pi- 
reus ; where he has been for the last six years subjected to 
much annoyance and vexation in various lawsuits connected Avitb 
his mode of teaching and proclaiming Christianity in Greece. 
He is now firmly and successfully established in his post. 

At dark, the servant called us to tea, where I had the honor 
of presiding, as Mrs. B. had been for some time, and was still 
absent in America, upon a visit. It was a charming, neat little 
table, and I shall remember it particularly, being desirous of 
emulating its simple elegance when tvc shall go to housekeep- 
ing. It pleased another. Tea, toast, bread and butter ; a 
white acidified cream-dish, flavored and slightly resembling our 
Dutch cheese ; the expressed quintessence of the heart of roses 
(a kind of eastern sweets.) and delicious sponge-cake ; — What 
could have been more daintily delectable ? Keats, in his " Eve 
of St. Agnes," hints at a similar regalia of viands. We enjoyed 
it finely as I fully demonstrated by my long delay thereat. But 
tea is past, — and we retire to the drawing-room, where in pleas- 
ant converse we hold the approaching night hours as in a spell, 
until it is time to be aboard. Mr. Buel escorted us thither. 
It was a pleasant sea-row ; for the lightning's vivid flash 
lighted up sky and water with a strange glow ; and the circling 



A LAl>y\s VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 2'Z7 

brilliants of lights that shone on the Pireus made earth rival 
heaven in its stellar splendor. But there was no rain with the 
lightning flash. Indeed, that would have been too much of a 
luxury. We have scarcely felt a shower since we left home, 
save the one of the arching prisms, beneath which we glided out 
of that dark and cavernous tunnel and into the gay city of 
Marseilles ! 

We reached our ship — rather an unpleasant change from so 
home-like a visit (how heartily tired I had become of the boat), 
although the officers greeted us with the kindly courtesy so 
peculiar to the French. How provoking not to know more fully 
their language. One half of the pleasure is thus lost through 
want of knowledge, — that is, the travelling part, for, when sta- 
tionary, we can occupy ourselves sufficiently in sight-seeing. 

The monotony of the voyage, however, was somewhat broken 
by the numerous isles, — some viue-clad and olive-colored, but 
mostly rocky and bleak, which are known as the Archipelago, 
and celebrated as the birthi^laces and homes of the most gifted 
minds of ancient Greece. We awoke on the morning of the 
30th of June in the harbor of Smyrna, Asia Minor. This is 
the point from which travellers start to see the seven churches 
of Asia, of which that at Smyrna is one. It lies along a slope 
of the hill-side. On the right hand is a large grove of cypress, 
pointing out the Moslem Cemetery. The roofs are brown, — 
from amidst which ascend the tall minarets and round domes of 
the mosques. The large castle sweeps, from the high hill above, 
the circular view. Deep shadows checker with warm sunlight 
the coast far around. From the green bay which curls all over 
with white-caps, the city lifts itself up, a dreamy, picturesque 
vision of truly Asiatic scenery ! What a quaint old Orientalism 
it is! 

We were early on shore, and went directly to a hotel ; but, 
how unfortunate ! they refused to give us breakfast until nine 
o'clock. This was not to be endured for a moment ; and. as the 
ladies declared their willingness to resort to a cafe, we shook 



228 ^ LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

the dust off of our feet in a truly oriental style, and left with 
marked indignation ! We had, by some queer turn of luck, been 
thrown into the way of an odd specimen for a guide, — a tall, 
gaunt Jew, bad-featured and bearded. His soiled garments and 
coarse brown Abrahamic tunic, gave him any thing but the ap- 
pearance of a desirable cicerone to the ignorant and respectable 
stranger. 

But a fine cafe soon brought us relief, in its large and airy 
proportions, its delightful water-view, and, what came more 
especially home to us, its substantial edibles. Chibouques and 
Hobble-gobbles (Turkish pipes) were plenteous. The bubbling 
watei-, curling smoke, and the indolent air of the smokers, indi- 
cated the luxurious East. As there was little to be seen here 
but the bazaars, it was only desirable to while away the time 
before the ship's departure ; so bidding Abraham onward, we 
followed in close Indian file. The st'-eets are quite narrow, and 
we could not do otherwise, considering the opposing stream of 
people to be met, and the single files of mules, camels, donkeys 
and horses, all to look out for. We threaded street and alley, 
turned corners innumerable, and finally entered upon the Ba- 
zaai's. These are the marts of trade. They are low-roofed 
houses with projecting roofs, touching in the centre and forming 
a completely shaded arch. The little rooms on either side are 
some ten feet square. These furnish every thing that fancy 
can desire, from the richest Persian silks and cloth of gold to 
the veriest trifle or toy of a Eui-opean city. 

We stopped to purchase some Otto of Roses, and before we 
finished, we had collected quite a motley group around us ; and 
what was worse, it did not leave us. Two of the group we had 
noticed at the boat ; but all of them tarried where we tarried, 
and by skilful manoeuvring contrived to reach each spot which we 
reached at the same time. Their aim was to forestall us in our 
purchases, adding twenty per cent, to the prices, or make the 

piastres out of us. Poor S ! it did not agree with his ideas 

at all — this numerous train — and he wielded his Vesuvius club 



A LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 229 

with a still fiercer demonstration. As for P , he seemed 

quite at ease, and considered it as adding to our importance, 
this truly oriental train. They might be taken for the train of 
some Grandee or Nabob ! 

As for Abraham, we tortured him incessantly with orders to 
send them back ; and he, poor fellow, seeing our suspicions were 
already aroused, did his best, but in vain. One moment coming 
out upon a square, one old fellow would be seen quietly quaffing 
a draught from the fountain, no doubt out of breath with run- 
ning round the corner, — another would pop out here, another 
there, and so on, — as if we possessed the ring of Aladdin upon 
■which these genii waited. The Vesuvius club was no cause of 
fear. But it was becoming almost vinendurable. " Good-bye," 
says S to one, " we can dispense with your farther com- 
pany." '• Oh ! oh ! never mind, I'm walking for pastime," was 
the provoking answer, as he swung his beads carelessly over his 
arm, and with most perverse air dogged on after us. Finally, 

oh ! crowning thought, S bethinks him of the Janizary, 

and intimates that he will call one. Whereupon they quickly 
cried out, " Oh yes, we go, we go, give us four piastres." " No, 
you rascals, not one ;" and away they vanished, as if Aladdin 
had lost his ring. 

We passed a mosque, and on tiptoe took a peep within. It 
was quite plain and had a high gallery bounded by an iron rail- 
ing. The gallery was to be occupied by the ladies. The ceil- 
ing was covered with innumerable suspended chains, to which 
were attached (they do say) any quantity of ostrich eggs and 
horse-tails, as well as lamps. We only saw the latter. A far- 
ther glimpse within, at the open door, showed us a floor covered 
with matting, nothing more. We were not permitted to enter 
unless the shoes were taken off, which was quite too much trou- 
ble. We saw the Turks perform their ablutions at the fountain 
in front. The fountain looked quaint enough surrounded by 
the stooping figures, with red turbans ; each with his hands un- 
der the little water-spouts. When this ceremony is over, they 



230 ^ LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIE:sT. 

enter the porch of the church, slip easily out of their shoes, and 
walk quietly within. 

There were few ladies out during the daytime, and these 
few were shopping. They were enveloped in their mantles. 
A white piece of cloth covers the head like a nun's veil, from 
which drooped a black gauze covering. Nose and eyes were thus 
concealed from the gazer, but they themselves could see very 
easily. The white upper piece was connected with a white 
piece below, which hid the chin and lower part of the face. 
I had imagined that the concealment of the beauty of the 
Turkish ladies might be quite desirable in their own country. 
In some way I had been led to make the mistake, that a 
veil always hides something beautiful. The idea of mystery 
plays in the imagination and lends enchantment to every thing 
dim and forbidden. But when I came to see black Nubian 
damsels, darker than night, so dark that ebony might reflect a 
lily pallor beside them, veiled in the same way, I could but 
laugh outright. I wonder what possessed them to adopt that 
custom. And then the clumsy yellow boots that they manage 
to slide over the ground in ; one can imagine nothing more 
cumbersome than their appearance. Indeed, the whole figure 
looks to us very ungainly and ungraceful. I have just read in 
some late papers, kindly handed to us by our consul, of the in- 
novations at home in relation to ladies' dress, and of the intro- 
duction of these foreign costumes, among which the Turkish is 
mentioned. I should hope the latter will not be adopted ; at 
least such as we have seen worn in the street. The costume 
for the house may be preferable. We have seen none in the 
street such as are spoken of in the American papers. Perhaps 
what is generally known in America as the Turkish dress, with 
the full pantaloons and jacket, is the Persian properly. If any 
innovation should be made on present fashions, and there is 
room for improvement^ the Persian, somewhat contracted, would 
recommend itself for taste and comfort. 

We passed on to the Caravansary bridge, supposing it to be 



A LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 231 

some grand sight, as our anxious Abraham seemed to think we 
must certainly see it. We found merely a stone bridge over a 
small yellow stream ; but the cafes that lined the shore were a 
charming retreat for the weary or pleasure-seeking of the city. 
Jewish children huddled about us, to stare. We gave them 
some delicacies, whereat they were much pleased, kissing their 
little hands in token of thankfulness. Women negligent in at- 
tire, with hair dishevelled, were to be met with, unveiled. But 
these were Jewish. We sat beneath the shade of some noble 
old sycamores. These trees furnish gi-ateful shade to the sun- 
oppressed pilgrims of the East. They seem placed here by 
Providence for this very beneficent end. The tall cypresses 
opposite, kept their guardian watch over the white-turbaned 
tombs beneath. The cemetery was full — literally /t^/Z of grave 
stones. Those for married men are capped with a turban cut in 
the white marble. A virgin's tomb bore a simple rose branch. I 
never saw the cypress attain to such a height, or so numerous as 
in these cemeteries ; but soon I learned that, at the death of a 
dear friend or relative, it was formerly the custom to plant a 
cypress at the head of the grave ; but which custom of late has 
fallen into disuse. Our guide proposed to ascend Castle Hill, 
but we declined, from fatigue, satisfied with the pleasant place 
we had already found. 

These grounds are the nightly resort of all Smyrna. The 
ladies never make their appearance until after dinner at seven 
or eight o'clock (our evening), and then they are always dressed 
richly and gorgeously. They laugh, dance, sing, eat ices, and 
return to their homes at one, two, and three in the morning. 
Thus changing night into day, they become pale and sallow, in 
fact lose all freshness of color, and become any thing but the 
beauties we have always been taught to consider them. Sun- 
days are their especial gala days. 

How indolent these Orientals are ! They si in front of 
their shops, smoke and take it easy. Their walk is very indo- 
lent. Indeed, it is said, that the only time that they are ever 



232 A LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

known to quicken their pace is in bearing a corpse to its grave, 
when they hurry fast enough. They believe that the agony 
commences as soon as death takes place, and this only ceases 
the moment when the body has been consigned to its final 
home. Singular belief! 

Now and then an Arab would come sweeping by. The fierce 
look, turbancd head, wild roving air, and brace of pistols, betray 
the nation. They looked like the veriest banditti. Perhaps 
they were ; for we have been told that there are many around 
Smyrna, and that they even venture into the town, through 
which they pass unmolested and untouched. Their spies are 
innumerable. They know every ship that lands, and every 
stranger that tarries. Murders and robberies are coijimitted 
nightly, without and within the city. It is quite unsafe to ven- 
ture on any of the excursions around the country. Only a few 
days ago two young sportsmen were out, and both were captured. 
The robbers sent one back with a message to the father of the 
other, that if a hundred pounds ransom were forthcoming for 
his son, he might be restored to him. If the next day passed 
without the ransom being received, one arm should be sent to 
his father ; the second day, the second arm : and so on, quarter 
by quarter, until the money xvas paid. They keep advised of 
the wealth of each citizen, so as always to fall within bounds 
when naming the ransom. The soldiers are regular Falstaflians 
in character. Their European dress, which they are obliged to 
adopt, has quite unfitted them for anything like a display of 
courage. Six were sent for two robbers, and came back, after a 
skirmish, without them. What bravery ? What a city, and 
what protectors 1 The troops number over a thousand, but 
should they leave the city in search of the robbers, they are not 
sure of those they leave behind — the population is so mixed. 

Donkeys with huge burdens, cam-els with huger ones, and 
man a complete beast of burden, were ^ghts that continually 
met our eyes. Large stones were carried on the backs of 
men, who almost bent double under their wei";ht. Will it be 



A LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 233 

believed when I say, that our Vice Consul at Constantinople 
saw one of these carriers bear over one thousand pounds on his 
back over two hundred yards ? 

Since arriving at Constantinople, so many sights of an East- 
ern cast have met my eye, that they have become almost too 
familiar to be depicted. Novelty always lends her aid in tran- 
scription. Constantinople presents a rich panorama, with its 
towers, domes, and minarets, as we glide up the Bosphorus into 
the noble harbor. But the beauty all lies in tlie distance ; for 
when once the city is entered, the charm evanishes. The streets, 
bazaars, and throngs of strange costumes, are similar to those I 
have described at Smyrna. 

But they tell me that there is one place where I shall not 
meet with disappointment. The Seraglio needs no distance to 
lend it enchantment. I had read Irving's Grenada and Al- 
hambra, and pictured to myself, in imagination, the fountains 
and halls, minarets and groves, the varied and Oriental luxu- 
riousness of that Moorish palace ; and when they told me, that 
I might see in the Seraglio its resemblance, my heart bounded 
at the idea even of a partial fulfilment of that longing desire to 
see the original. 

This far-famed palace occupies the spot of the ancient city 
of Byzantium, on the extreme eastern point of the promontory 
extending towards Asia, and forming the entrance to the Bos- 
phorus. It is triangularly shaped, and nearly three miles in 
circumference. The palace has nothing to boast of in its out- 
side appearance. The interior is a singvxlar clustering of houses 
without order, which have been added from time to time at the 
caprice of the Sultanas. 

Our party of twenty-five, English, French, Jews and Ameri- 
cans, sought the nearest point to the waters of the Golden 
Horn, entered a caique, and crossed over to the Seraglio. We 
were detained for some time at the Cafe on the opposite shore, 
waiting for the firman. Then, with the officers, we entered 
upon our tour of inspection. The lower story consisted of a 



234 ^ LADY'S VKUDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

long hall, paved with tesselated gravel stones, and of servants' 
rooms surrounding and opening into it. At the far end was the 
stairway, upon reaching which we were obliged to glide into 
slippers. Such a slipping time as there was too ! Imagine it — 
a lady's delicate slipper encased in the size furnished for a gen- 
tleman's boot. First one shoe and then another was left be- 
hind, in our vain efforts at this novel style of walking. Our 
guide was in constant requisition, bringing up the truants, who 
were obliged to resume their places again, to undergo the same 
penance. We reached the sacred precincts above, and made 
our entrance. That was a fine noble hall into which we were 
ushered, although it had a covering of matting on the floor. It 
at once completely initiated us into the whole mystery of Ori- 
ental luxuriousness. 

I can but group the Seraglio, for it was one series of elegant 
apartments ; marble basins, bagnios and gushing fountains. 
These gorgeous halls, the chaste cool baths and their attached 
rooms of reclining after bath-taking — formed a complete scene 
of deliciousness. They were somewhat similar to each other, 
with their ceilings of fretted gold — paintings of richest tracery, 
walls of landscapes, rounded and arched recesses overlooking 
the sea, windows with rich tapestry hangings, gilded clocks and 
miniature temples ornamenting the side places — divans and 
chairs of crimson figured damask, and gold cloths — and the 
coverings of white linen in which these latter were encased, giv- 
ing a summery air to the whole, — all combined, made the Se- 
raglio too enrapturing, entrancing, and unreal, almost to be con- 
ceived of — a place for reveries and dreams only, — the halls of 
poesy and sleep. 

The floor and walls of the baths were of white marble, and 
the light from above entered through a honey-comb of white 
ceiling. Spigots turned the water out, which fell into white 
marble shells, or bath-basins ranged in perfect neatness. We 
walked down the long aii*y corridors where the ladies of the 
harem promenade and exercise. One side of the longest corri- 



A LADY'S VERDICT UPON TEE ORIENT. 235 

dor was latticed with delicate uet-work, through which the Oda- 
lisques could peep into gardens of every kind of fruit and flower ; 
the other side being adorned with numerous paintings and 
engravings, representing every scene in nature to which they 
were denied. 

The tea-room was a most delicious, cool retreat, close to the 
water's edge ; and being a story or more below the others, it 
seemed half grotto-like. A fountain played in the centre, build- 
ing its silvery dome with flakes of purple and ruby fire, glitter- 
ing in the colors of the morning. Its basin, square and quite 
shallow, was fixed in the marble floor, in the midst of which 
swam shoals of golden fishes. A hundred pipes when playing 
send the water and spray high up to the ceiling. Side fountains 
there were too, in which the water first plashing up to the height 
of the head, falls over into a marble shell. This, as it fills, runs 
over into its counterpart below, and so on successively like the 
little step water-falls we saw at Pompeii. At one end stood a 
triangular-shaped pyramid of honey-comb work. This also was 
a fountain, the water of which issued from innumerable honey- 
comb orifices. It was quite unique and quaint. But the rounded 
recess on the sea side was the favorite spot where the luxurious 
Ottoman and his Sultanas sat or reclined at their coffee-sipping. 
Was there ever so enchanting, so cool a grotto ? The refresh- 
ing sea breeze, the balmy air of the playing fountains, — the soft 
music of their dashing, trembling, spraying waters, — the wavy 
plash of the Bosphorus without, against the walls, and the hum 
of the distant city borne across the Golden Horn, — the plying 
caiques with their arrowy points, darting by in graceful rapidity, 
the noble steamer and more lofty prow of the huge man-of-war 
cutting and parting the clear sea ; in fine, the noble harbor of 
Constantinople with its busy mart, and the hills that rise in 
mellow distance above ; all this — as well the scene without as 
the scene within, — glorious Nature and luxurious Art, — the spell 
of delight, the dream of enchantment ; who can picture ? — not 



236 ^ LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

we ; and only those can fed it, who are there embathed in its 
enjoyments. 

I wish I could peep in upon its occupants at some even tide, 
when the sun through leaves and lattice checkers in shadow the 
marble floor, to see if content and happiness dwell within, — to 
see how far such a life is fi-aught with pleasure and true content. 
They say the Sultanas are gay and happy. They have every 
thing to make them so, educated as they are only in their own 
Eastern customs. The Circassian beauty knows no higher desire 
or ambition than to become the Nourmahal — " Light of the 
Harem," to some Moslem chief. She possesses a charm for the 
senses. It is enough to make her the chosen one. Of course 
such an one, though beauteous as one of the Houri, can know 
nothing of that ideal delight of the soul which rises superior to 
the sense, or that longing for liberty which we should have under 
similar circumstances. Dr. Johnson, in his Rasselas, has repre- 
sented this longing to be free, even though bound by golden 
chains in splendid palaces. 

The gardens of the Seraglio are luxuriant in tree and shrub. 
The tall cypress waves ever green and fresh. The vine clings 
to the wall, and hides its bare face with the green tendril and 
leaf Tender-eyed gazelles peep out of leafy coverts, while 
arches and pyramids of green bend and rise in every vista. A 
mimic lake occupies the centre, within which there is an island, 
and rustic bridges gracefully span the reach. The walks are of 
shells (some of which we gathered), margined with flowers of 
every kind, of which the Turks are not quite so selfish as the 
Europeans. Orange bowers are pendent with golden fruitage, 
and fragrance fills the air. • These proclaim a perfection in the 
garniture of Nature, not as if it were imported or exotic, but as 
if it were at home in its own charming bower. But I cannot 
particularize farther ; suffice it to say, 

" No greener garden ever was known 
Within the bounds of an earthly king," 



A LADrS VEBDIVT UPON THE OBIENT. 237 

The Armory, which we next visited, is one immense i-epository 
of arms. Multiplied stacks of long guns, short guns and pistols, 
were arranged in regular figures of squares and pyramids. Here 
was the ancient mail-clad knight, with his jointed armor and 
the long spear which the lancer poised mid air, before sending 
it to the heart. Here, too, was the sabre and kettle-drum. The 
room containing the keys to the different towns and cities own- 
ing the sway of the Sultan, was quite apart. The keys were 
gold and silver mounted, and were neatly arranged in a case. 
The key of Jerusalem, and that of Mecca, shone conspicuously. 
These keys in the armory finely symbolize the power of the 
Moslem, as it sweeps over the Orient, entering each city's portal, 
and controlling the wild Arabs of the desert. 

The Sultan Mahmoud's tomb was a gorgeous affair, and pe- 
culiar as the home of the royal dead. Here it was necessary to 
go through the same formula of exchanging shoes, although the 
floor was covered with matting. The tomb is in the centre of 
the temple, surrounded by those of two sisters and three daugh- 
ters. Each tomb is made in a sort of square pyramidical form, 
with a railing of most beautiful inlaid pearl-wood. Velvet 
cloths and elegant cashmere shawls were flung over these. Huge 
massive silver candelabras, and massive tapers of wax, stand at 
the head and foot of each, connected by a silver chain to the 
pillared corners. Over the taper was an extinguisher, figuring 
Death ! The book-stands of inlaid white pearl, holding the 
richly bound Koran, and glistening in the sunlight, stood open 
near each tomb, with the gold embroidered cloth thrown lightly 
over them. This pearl work gave a brilliancy to the tomb more 
than I ever imagined could be displayed even by Oriental re- 
gality. 

But our most charming visit, and the only ride we indulged 
in, was to the '• Sweet waters of Europe." Our Consul's kind 
invitation had been accepted to ride thither in his carriage. The 
streets are horribly paved. A corduroy road at home would 
have been far preferable. Out of curiosity. I inquired the length 



238 ^ LADY'S VERDICT UPON THE ORIENT. 

of time a carriage would last here ; the answer was two years. 
At the edge of the city we came upon the Sultan's favorite drive, 
which, consequently, is an open road, and as finely graded as any 
in England. We passed the writing school, the Polytechnic 
Institute, and the Barracks. The soldiers seem to have the 
most elegant residences, save the Sultan's palaces, and the villas. 
A long steep hill descended, led us into the valley, which is some 
two miles in length. The waters of this vale are quite sweet. 
The view is called finer than that of the sweet waters of Asia, 
on the Asiatic side. The road winds Avith the stream, and be- 
neath the shade of numerous groves of sycauiores. with a leaf 
like our oak, and elms, with leaves, looking like our maples. 
These groves are filled of a festal Friday, and upon every even- 
ing, when music and gayety prevail ; but now in Ramazan, it 
was lone and deserted. No voice is heard, save that of the harsh 
croaking frog. 

In this delightsome vale the Sultan has one of his summer 
residences ; but we saw only the exterior. A marble Kiosk 
(summer-house) is just at the base of a dashing waterfall. The 
water plays all around it, while a bridge spans the stream below. 
The stream gradually widens, until it forms the Golden Horn, 
flowing through and dividing the city. As we ascended the hill, 
leaving the vale behind us, we came upon the Jews' burying 
ground, which is a sea of white stones, all plain, and lying flat or 
standing up, with not a tree or shrub to relieve the barenness of 
the spot. Our Consul remarked, that it was strange the Jews cared 
so little for the adornment of their cemeteries, and he wondered 
why it should be so. One of our party assigned as the reason, 
their strange belief, that the body did not rise where buried, but 
walked in agony underground to the Valley of Jehoshaphat, 
where it was judged ; hence no associations of life and beauty 
clustered around the burial spot, and hence no adornment. 
When, Oh ! shall I speak it ? Yankeeism to the last, another 
suggests, " what a capital speculation it would be to run from 
this spot, an underground railroad.'''' Truly there would be no 



A LADY'S V£RDICr UPON THE ORIENT. 239 

lack of passengers, judging by the infinity of stones, and the 
natural desire to finish so unpleasant a journey ! 

An old Greek pri'est came trotting by with great gravity, but 
as soon as he had passed us, spurred his horse into a wild gallop. 
How funny it looked — a priest playing mad John Gilpin over 
the grave-yard of the Jew, his full black robe and flying veil 
dancing at right angles before the wind. 

As we ncared the city, the sunlight played upon the win- 
dows in flames of living fire — no wonder when the houses are 
almost all windows. 

How out of place a Cemetery would appear to us, as a resort 
for pleasure and promenade, — a place for eating, drinking, smok- 
ing, and musical performances. But so it is here, where Fatal- 
ism buries her dead without a tear, and the mourner, bowing to 
the blow, strokes his beard and ejaculates, " God is great ;" 
" God js great ;" and retires stoically to his ordinary pursuits. 
Chairs and tombstones furnish the seats, and the cypress tree 
the canopy, for these evening and midnight carousals, which ai'c 
even more frequent during the Kamazan. We reached the Ho- 
tel at nine o'clock, two hours after the customary din)tcr time 
here. 

Passing by our delightful sail over the Bosphorus, past villas 
and palaces — our lucky sight of Mahomet Ali, the Pasha of 
Egypt — of the prophet of Mecca with his strange, solemn coun- 
tenance, and more than all, of the Sultan himself — a gorgeous 
Oriental pageantry ; passing by the rich and ever-variant scenes 
of the streets, the busy bazaars and prayerful mosques, — I may 
not forget to mention one most especial peculiarity of this city, 
and that is its — dogs. They lie at every turn in mosque and 
market, in door and out, in the path of man and beast, and only 
answer to the tapping boot, trampling donkey, or nudging cane, 
by a squeak or growl. They are incorrigible, never moving for 
man or beast. They belong to no one ; but each has his partic- 
ular home-quarter, where he lives — a pauper on the public who 
hold Jiim sacred. 



240 ^ LADY'S VERDICT UPOIJ THE ORIENT. 

But I think we have almost exhausted the city. As we pass 
out of the Golden Horn into the Bosphorus, we make our Sa- 
laam to the Orient. Farewell, old city ! with your spires and 
domes glittering in the setting sun ! It will he long ere we see 
thee again, for the pathway hither is over troublous seas, troub- 
lous for a man even, how much more troublous for one of the 
other sex. 



XVIII. 

€'lie ^ttrkislj foil\\ ^kliilt in its ^■lirttirrsqnB frrss. 

" Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle, 
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?" 

Bride of Abydos. 

WOULD that I had the magic bow of the Scythian Abaris 
to give it a twang, and that I could ride on the arrow with 
telegraphic velocity to our western clime, there to see what 
chances and changes have occurred since we left. We have not 
heard from home for two months. I suppose that Ohio has a 
new constitution adopted by this time. Constitutions — how 
different they are here from those in the States. Even Turkey 
has a constitution, adopted in 1840, by which certain rights are 
guarantied to all — Armenian and Jew, Christian as well as Turk. 
But like the other constitutions of Europe, it is just so much 
parchment, to be " dispensed" with by the government, just when 
it pleases. The popular spirit must constitute the last anal- 
ysis of the State — the elemental organic law. In the fire of the 
popular heart, lies the warm and the only healthy glow of the 
body politic. If this be extinguished or smothered, constitutions 
are but paper nothings. Now the constitution of Turkey was 
a voluntary renunciation of absolute power by the Sultan, for 
the purpose of reform and the happiness of all. It was called 
the Haiti Shcrif of Gulkenah, or imperial charter. It was 
named after a kiosk called Gulkenah, the Runnymede of the 
Turkish Magna Charta, where, in presence of the principal Pashas 
and the diplomatic corps, Reschid Pasha read the constitution. 
It was drawn up by Reschid, who is the Grand Vizier. It miti- 
gates many of the old punishments of the Turk, and thus con- 
11 



242 '^'^^A' TURKISH BoDY POLITIC 

forms to the humane spirit of the Sultan, who has never been 
known to sanction an act of cruelty. It establishes boards and 
councils in the capital and principal towns, whose ordinances 
are, however, subject to the supervision of the Porte. It gives 
the privilege to the Armenian, Jew, and Christian, to sue and 
give testimony, and receive equal justice in the courts. But the 
Turkish kadis and muftis interpret justice and receive testi- 
mony just as they did before the constitution ; judging all things 
by the Koran, and regarding all but Mussulmans as dogs and 
Giaours. The constitution is, in this respect, a complete dead 
letter. The blackest Nubian slave who believes in Mahomet 
can give testimony, but the most respectable Christian is not 
heard. The Ulemats of the law are permitted to plead and in- 
terpret the law as they please, which they do on paper, not orally ; 
subject to the old contingency of being pounded to death in a 
mortar if they displease the government. 

The Salique law is in full force in Turkey. Neither sons 
nor daughters under a certain age are raised to the throne, nor 
can a daughter transmit to a male offspring any claims to the 
succession. The brothers of the Sultan first succeed according 

o 

to their age. The only brother of the present Sultan is kept 
close in the palace, and is seldom permitted to be seen. One of 
the tombs we saw was that of a Sultan. His brothers, murdered 
by him, to the number of nineteen, slumbered around him. — The 
object of their death was to avoid the law, so as to transmit the 
crown lineally to the Sultan's son. When the brothers fail, the 
Bon succeeds ; hence the anxiety of Sultans about their brothers. 
The present Sultan, Abd-ul-Mejid has a son about ten years of 
age, of whom he is very fond, and to whom he is giving a fine 
education. He will succeed to the throne if the brother should 
happen to die. 

The wives of the Sultan at present number thirteen. This 
does not include the harem, but only the Kadines, who alone 
have the privilege of i^roducing an heir to the throne. They are 
chosen frorr) the Odalisques, or females of the imperial harem. 



LY Ills PICTURESQUE DRESS. 243 

There is no marriage ceremony performed, and tlie Sultan may 
divorce the marriage when he pleases. When the Sultan dies, 
the Kadines go into solitary retirement, still supported by the 
State. They never marry. The mother of the Saltan is more 
fortunate ; she lives iu a splendid palace, and is treated like the 
Queen Dowager of England. We saw the palace of the mother 
of tlie present Sultan at the head of the harbor — a splendid pile ! 
She derives a large revenue from some of the isles of the empire. 

The inheritance of property is regulated by laws dissimilar 
from that which regulates the succession to the throne. There 
are two kinds of property — -free and mortgage. The first is 
transmitted to the children, male and female, share and share 
alike. The mortgage property becomes absolute iu the mosque 
(to which alone mortgage is permitted) upon the death of the 
mortgagor. If a person wishes to borrow five thousand piastres, 
he goes to his mosque, and during life pays a small interest of 
about one-half per cent. ; the condition of defeasance being, that 
the property, which must be worth double the amount loaned, 
shall become absolute in the mosque on the death of the bor- 
rower. The mosques do not accumulate, but immediately sell 
and reloan. In the time of the plague, the mosques make money 
in round numbers. This financial ecclesiastical feature will ac- 
count for the number and the influence of the mosques in Con- 
stantinople. No wonder so many minarets glitter in the sun, 
and so many domes swell under the cloudless sky of the east, 
amidst the mean, dirty, wooden houses that line the filthy streets. 
No wonder the city gleams so grandly in the distance, and re- 
poses so tranquilly beauteous, _/«r off' ! 

The influence of the Moslem priests is paramount to all law. 
There is no connection between the Church and State, for they 
are one. The religion of the people is the State. The Koran 
is the real Constitution. Every rule of private and public con- 
duct is drawn from its page. Greater devotion to a religion could 
not be had. Prayer with the Turks is universal ; and they do 
not seek the intervention of priests to commune with Allah. It 



244 •?'^^' TURKISH BODY POLITIC 

is as common at night as in the day, at the feast as in Ramazan, 
in the field as in the chamber, in the mosque as in the cemetery. 
Last eve, at the fifth hour, the Moslems upon the steamer which 
is now bearing us westward, all bowed to the East, and simul- 
taneously repeated their prayers, and performed their motions. 
At nightfall, the audible song went up from the deck, where 
cross-legged thej^ sat ; after which they enjoyed the pipe and 
their food, after the total abstinence of the day. The season of 
Ramazan is kept alike at every place. 

We have two Pashas aboard, with whom I have been con- 
versing in my usual manner by signs and a dictionary. Pleas- 
ant, dignified, and communicative, dressed in their ermine cloaks 
and I'ed caps, and perfect gentlemen in all respects, except 
Christianity, they assume no airs, even over their own servants. 
Their salutation is tenderly symbolic of good will. They kiss 
the hand, touch the heart and forehead, and make a slight obeis- 
ance. They seem thus to unite the respect of the mind with 
the warmth of their hearts. They have the reputation of being 
honest, hospitable and truthful ; and that is more than is said of 
the Greek and Armenian Christians, who live among them, and 
who excuse these characteristics by saying, " Oh ! their religion 
commands these things." Beautiful Christians ! The Turks 
drink no spirituous liquor, which accounts for their moral and 
physical health, as well as for the scarcity of beggars, and the 
absence of cripples. Opium is not used generally. Tobacco is 
as common as the turban or fez cap. A Turk without his chi- 
bouque, would be like a man without a nose. It is a part of 
himself, not to be severed. He gives it prominence above every- 
thing, except the Koran — above the feast, the bath, and the tur- 
ban. 

I think that the slavery of Turkey is not properly understood 
in America. I have taken some pains to learn about these so- 
cial customs, and must acknowledge my obligation to our vice- 
consul, Mr. Daniese, who has furnished me with the information. 
The slave markets of Constantinople have drawn forth a great 



m ITS PICTURESQUE DRESS. 245 

deal of sympathy, from the ladies especially. The idea of white 
women, almost naked, being sold in the public markets, has ex- 
cited much horror. This is all superfluous. To be sure, slavery 
is bad enough in its best form. But the slave of the Turk is 
not the slave of the planter, by a good deal. Here, it signifies 
a person purchased to be the adopted son or daughter of the 
owner. The market for white slaves is alone open to Turks, 
who purchase two classes of persons ; one for wives, the other for 
servants. The former are sent by the best families of Georgia 
and Circassia to the Commissioner, who takes care that no insult 
of the slightest nature is-oifei-ed. They are glad to go. All is 
voluntary. The females have the absolute right to refuse to be 
sold to any one whom they dislike. Ladies in America some- 
times do not have as much accorded to them. Once bought, 
they become the wife of the Mussulman, just as fully as Miss 
Jones united to Mr. Smith, by Esq. Johnson, becomes Mrs. 
Smith. The law fixes their dowry ; and if their husbands mis- 
use them, it gives them redress in alimony and divorce. The 
alimony allowed is their whole dowry. The property in the 
servant-slaves inheres to the wife, and not to the husband. He 
is bound to protect them through life, and provide for their 
maintenance. But when there are several wives — what then ? 
I imagine that there are very few who have more than one wife. 
Our acquaintance, the good Bey, only had one, as he said ; per- 
haps he meant only one to whom he gave his heart. When the 
wives are many, the same rule as to dower and maintenance ob- 
tains. There is one redeeming feature in Turkish slavery, and 
that is. that the mother becomes free on the birth of a child, 
who is also free. There is no hereditary slavery. 

The male slaves have every chance to rise in the world, be- 
cause they rise with their masters. Merit and mind rise above 
the institution. The son-in-law of the late Sultan, Halil Pasha, 
was once the slave of Khrosref Pasha, himself once a Georgian 
slave. The mother of the present Sultan — a fine portly lady, 
living in luxury in her palace, was once a Circassian slave, sold 



246 T^iE TURKISH BODY POLITIC 

for a price to Mahmoud II., the father of the present Emperor, 
and is now the honored source of much of the power of the Sub- 
lime Porte. It is the religion which softens the harshness of 
the institution, and makes it a shadow. A day in Constantinople 
will convince the most unobserving that the Moslem faith recog- 
nizes no invidious distinction between the faithful. Indeed, the 
finest-looking man I saw was a dark but lofty-browed man, who, 
perhaps, was once a slave, but is now a chief prophet or priest 
of all Mahometanism. He presides at Mecca. I saw him un- 
der these circumstances. After leaving the gorgeous and splen- 
did tomb of Mahmoud, the last Sultan, and while wondering at 
the perpetual freshness of grief which seemed to hover about the 
dead, caused by the rich shawls and mother-of-pearl work, as 
well as by the beautiful mosque around and over the tomb, and 
while admiring that appropriate symbol of the great wax candles, 
covered by the extinguisher, at the head of the tomb, we were 
disturbed and startled by the cries and bustle of the street. The 
soldiers were drawn up — the band played — the citizens rushed 
to see, and the word was — " The Sultan^ lo ! he cometh over the 
Golden Horn!" 

We waited in the shadow of a shop, and soon the officers and 
Pashas rode along on their fine steeds, which were led by slaves 
on foot ; next came an awe-inspiring man, dressed in a long 
sweeping green robe exquisitely wrought, and upon his broad 
and high brow he wore the finest turban of white, embound in 
red. He looked grave in his long and solemn face. .He seemed 
a man of sorrow, and his face was thin and indented with grief. 
A great calm, dark eye looked out from beneath his heavy intel- 
lectual forehead. If Mahomet resembled this, his successor, I 
would no longer wonder at the spell of Islamism by which he 
thralled the East. You forget his gorgeous apparel and his 
dark countenance, in the great mind which speaks from the 
face. He sits upon his fine Arab horse, a picture to '• witch 
the world," not as Hotspur did " in wondrous horsemanship," 
but by the priestly sanctity and intellectual composure of his 



m ITS PICTURESQUE DRESS. 247 

appearaucc. If Carlyle could see him, he would perform a 
genuflexion of hero-worship in his praise, as he has already in 
pi-aise of his predecessor. 

His mien and grace forcibly remind me of that wonderful 
race, who combining in their characters, as in their language, 
the Tartar, Persian and Arabic elements, ruled the deserts, 
spread over the East, conquered the isles of the Mediterranean, 
and under the dominion of Sultan and Caliph, began new dynas- 
ties in the world. Religious fervor and strong arms, — what is 
able to resist their power ? what ; — save the stronger arm of 
God \ 

Following him. was a riderless barb, dressed in cloth of gold. 
No Sultan to-day. The crowds laugh at the disappointment, 
but I was well satislied with seeing the prophet of Mecca. His 
portrait is daguerreotyped in my mind. 

The Armenians form an important part of the population in 
Turkey. Forty thousand alone are to be found in Smyrna, and 
eighty thousand in Constantinople. They have become, by dint 
of enterprise and shrewdness, the bi'okers and bankers of the 
realm. They are the second estate. The Custom House and 
the taxes have been sold to them by the government for a num- 
ber of years. The former was sold for fifty thousand pounds 
sterling. This is a novel way of raising funds. What is com- 
mendable about the matter is, that no extortion is resorted to. 
We found no vinpleasant searching at the custom house. 

These Armenians — where came they from 1 what are they ? 
I was led to make the same inquiry ; for in passing through the 
bazaars, my curiosity was excited by the singular black-eyed 
race who sat vipon the couches and mats, ministering so dexter- 
ously to the buyers, pictures of lazy activity and patient enter- 
prise ! They excel the Jews in trading ; and in singularity of 
custom and adhesiveness to their religion they resemble them. 
They are more easily distinguished from their turbaned neigh- 
bors than from the Jews. Perhaps they are one of the lost 
tribes. 



248 1'HE TURKISH BODY POLITIC 

The country of Armenia was situated in Asia, south of 
Georgia, somewhere in the vicinity of the garden of Eden. In 
the seventeenth century, it was laid waste by Shah Abbas, and 
its people distributed over the Turkish Empire and its adjacent 
countries, to the number of two millions. Many of them are in 
Hungary and Poland. Their religion is a sort of Christianity, 
with smoke enough about its altar to determine that some of the 
true fire is present. Eutychuswas the founder of their peculiar 
creed, which was condemned as heresy in the fifth century. 
Their creed is not unlike that of the Greek church, but like near 
relations when they do differ, they hate each other cordially. 
Fifteen thousand acknowledge the Pope of Rome. The others 
are under the spiritual supervision of three patriarchs in Asia. 
Their monasteries, fasts, and superstitions resemble the Greek 
more than the Roman church. Their language is as hard to 
understand as the mysteries of the Cabala or the Rosicrucians. 
Few of themselves understand or speak it. They have a kind 
of Knacker, made up of French and Italian, which they use. 
You may perceive their cemetery, by the absence of the cypress, 
which is allowed to none but Moslems. Their tree is the tere- 
binth or turpentine tree. Their idea of the future state of the 
soul is peculiar. They hold that it passes to a place of conscious- 
ness, where it is, however, quiescent, joyless and painless. 
Prayers are offered to deliver it from this purgatory of indifi"er- 
ence. They would not have this deathless soul impaired in its 
immortal nature, but restored to its full and active energy. 

How orderly those Mussulmans on deck perform their devo- 
tions. The cry of the leader just called me away to see the 
ceremony. While he sang, the others were discussing, as I 
judged by their gestures and laughing, the intricate question, 
"what direction is Mecca." Their shoes are all off. Their 
beards are washed. Their sleeves are rolled up. The leader 
has a white handkerchief over his head. The others all have on 
the red fez cap. They commence mumbling. The leader says 
something — they bend ; something else — they bend lower with 



AV ITS PIUTUEESQE DRESS. 249 

hands up, something still — their heads touch the deck. This 
process was repeated with closed eyes and devout faces, three 
times towards Mecca ; when they performed " eyes right" and 
" eyes left,"' like a company of infantry in three sections, then 
arose, shook their mats, lit their pipes, and put on their shoes. 
A very simple and striking devotion. 

I would like to have seen it upon a grander scale in Saint 
Sophia's mosque. I wrote of our abortive attempt to see the 
mosques, when a Nubian slave with his rattan drove our com- 
pany away, although we had in it two English captains, one 
French navy captain, a French diplomatist, a German noble, an 
oaf of a Jew. and four Americans ! We could not give it up ; 
so, procuring our firman, we took an earlier start — while the 
Moslems, under the effects of the night's revel after Ramazan 
fast, should be asleep. — Our firman cautiously brought us 
around to an entrance less public. A cross-eyed Turk in priestly 
stole and endless turban opened the door. We put on our slip- 
pers, and winding up and around a long, dark gallery, found 
ourselves in the lofty hall of the great Mahomet. In every 
thing else but its size, we were disappointed, and with St. 
Peter's in our mind, even that lost its potency. The lofty col- 
umns of every species of granite, marble and porphyry, support 
a large gallery ; while the dome is in the form of an ellipse. 
The circular dome is within this, and swells fearfully high and 
sublime. But where is the rich mosaic fresco of Genoa and 
Rome 1 Where are the forms of marble majesty and the breath- 
ing beauty of the canvass? Where is the soul of art and the 
genius of Italy 1 The eye swims restlessly about in unpeopled 
ether, with no graceful angel or bearded saint to buoy it upward 
into the celestial realm. Four large, bird looking, black colored, 
six winged, headless mosaic nondescripts, said to be angels, 
bespread their pinions at either corner of the dome. 

It is said that the Persians seldom paint forms, fearful lest 
they will be required in the day of judgment to find souls for 
their creations, which it is very difiicult to do. The artist will, 
11* 



250 THE TURKISH BODY POLITIC 

on this principle, be condemned eternally for these creations. 
These outre representations are intended for seraphim, who 
wei-e companions of Mahomet — Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and 
Israel. Near them are four large circular green signs, with 
Turkish calligraphy in golden letters, nearly as long as the 
name of the writer who has there displayed his genius. The 
name is Bitchiakdschisade Mustafa Techelebi ! Phcebus, what 
a sounding for your trump ! Nothing else strikes the beholder 
as very peculiar, unless it be a few fountains — a fine floor cover- 
ed with ordinary matting ; an altar turned towards Mecca ; two 
flags from the pulpit, representing the triumph of Moslemism 
over Judaism and Christianity ; some priests going about at- 
tending to the lamps, which are hung all around from strings 
alternating with ostrich eggs, flowers and tinsel, and which, v/hen 
lighted, glimmer like cressets, and reflect bearded and tailed 
lights like comets. The lamps are curved-shaped ; and when 
lit, as they are every night during this Ramazan season, seem 
like little fairy shallops floating in a sea of lustre, and among 
miniature starry islands. There is not so much gorgeousness 
as one would expect, after seeing what the Turk can display in 
the seraglio and palace. The shape of this temple is the Greek 
cross, and its dimensions are 200 feet by 275. The centre of 
the dome is 180 feet above the ground. Its vicissitudes have 
been remarkable, and its once glorious but now tarnished splen- 
dors lend a charm to it which apparently it has not. It is 1,500 
years old — was dedicated to the divine wisdom, in the time of 
Constantino. It has been burned several times and rebuilt. 
Baalbec with its pillars of the temple of the Sun, Ephesus with 
its green columns of the temple of Diana, the temple of Pallas 
at Athens, of the Moon at Heliopolis, of Apollo at Delos, of 
Cybele at Cyzicus, of Isis and Osiris from Egypt, as well as4he 
green, blue, black, white and parti-colored marbles of the world, are 
here represented in the 107 columns which support this splendid 
structure ! This would amply repay us for the visit, were there 
no other points of interest. Tradition and history represent Saint 



LY I'LS PICTURESQUE BBESS. 251 

Sophia as having had angels for architects, and as the most re- 
markable temple of ancient Christendom. In it Chrysostom 
spoke with his lips of gold. Up to the time when Mahomet 
with his Osmans rode victoriously into the city, and even into 
this temple, and dismounting, leaped upon the altar exclaiming. 
There is no Gtod but God, and Mahomet is his 2}>'oj)het /" — up 
to the time when SojDhia held her bloody carnival in these great 
walls, and while learning had here her chosen throne, this tem- 
ple shone resplendent in Mosaic and gold, purple and marbles, 
with its silver doves and carved images, as the Church of the East 
and the glory of Christendom. It was only the other day when 
repairing some of the walls, that rich mosaics superior to any 
at Rome, were discovered beneath the plaster, representing 
saints and martyrs. The sultan ordered them (sensible soul !) 
to be covered again, not knowing but that they might come in 
play in some future age. It is a current belief among the 
Turks, that their authority will end in a century ; and being 
Fatalists, it might prove a true prophecy : although, my firm 
belief is, that the Ottoman power is stronger now than it has 
been for half a century. The Mahometans have two or three 
miraculous objects in the church. One is a shining stone, 
said to be an onyx, which absorbs light, and when shone upon 
shines with intense glitter. Another is a sweating column, that 
emits a dampness, which is a panacea superior to Braudrcth or 
the Life Bitters. 

But most, Sophia will be remembered as the first home of 
the Christian : for the poet lias truly sung that in 

" Sophia's far-famed dome. 
There first the fsiith in triumph was led home. 
Like some high bride, Avith banner and bright sign, 
And melody and flowers." 

We saw places where the cross had been removed, and where 
images had been defaced. The crescent shone superior, however; 



252 ^^-^ TURKISH BODY POLITIC 

and from what we have observed in Constantinople generally, 
there is no present prospect of a wane of this symbol. The 
Sultan is building new palaces, the priests have their old powers, 
the Faith seems as firm, and the heart of the city throbs as 
warmly as ever. If these be indices of all Islamism, the Cross 
is not making much headway toward that Millennial point which 
we are assured it must attain even in these strong holds of the 
prophet. 

The population of Constantinople is over 600.000 souls; and 
how many are in the surrounding cities I do not know. It is 
curious to see the unusual phases this population presents, not the 
least curious among which is that of a class called scribes, who 
sit cross-legged at their stands, and write letters and petitions 
for the people. The time is reckoned as at Home, from sun- 
down. The graveyards are the public promenades, where joy 
meets joy in gratulation. The muffled faces of the women, the 
odd costume of the men, the sacredness of the public dogs, the 
howling and dancing of the dervishes — a singular piece of mad- 
capery — the easy air, grace, dignity and gorgeous apparel of the 
Pashas and Beys contrasted with the heavy-loaded, half bent and 
head-shaved carriers, are to be met with at every corner. But 
above all, is the unutterably grand panorama of the cities which 
form the margin of the Bosphorus, inclosed in walls which 
gleam as they wind over the distant hills — belted in from the 
waves of Marmora by a deep blue band, and the harbor inter- 
spersed with the heavy steamers and men-of-war, and light 
canoes by the thousand — and all this flooded by a sunlight, in 
which the orange and the acanthus bloom as no exotics, and the 
cypress points upward in rivalry of the gilded minarets and 
gleaming crescents, and where the transparent water repeats the 
enchanting scene, and waving, breaks it into myriad forms of 
glancing splendor. We left these scenes at sunset, and as we 
moved out of the harbor amidst schools of sportive porpoises and 
flocks of gulls (called condemned souls), soon bade the lovely 
scenes at distance farewell. " The sun of life will set" ere we 



IN ITS PICTURESQUE DRESS. 253 

forget thy luxurious people and gorgeous palaces, oh, Byzan- 
tium ! Already to the memory thou risest like a vision of the 
night or a revei-ie of the evening, which painter never illus- 
trated, and which Poetry alone has inwoven in 

" Dreams of many-colored light, 
Of golden towers and phantoms fair." 



XIX. 

(Dririitnl i'uxurti nnlr €\mmt Mm. 

" Slow sinks more lovely ere liis race be run, 
Along Morea's liills, the setting sun, 
Not as in Northern climes, obscurely bright, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light" 

Bi/ron. 

AFTER leaving the Dardanelles, we stopped again at Smyrna, 
where I took a Turkish bath, the .seventh heaven of Orien- 
talism. It is grateful enough for the traveller whose lungs have 
been shivered almost by the northern airs, or smothered by office 
confinement, just to breathe this delicious atmosphere under 
this rainless and cloudless sky. It is holy repose to the mind, 
vexed at home with business and pestered with care, only to 
look out through the calm eye upon these seas of beauteous 
blue (so blue that there is no expression for it), sleeping so calm- 
ly and tranqviilly under a canopy of purple lustre, to watch the 
gloaming rise and die away along these coasts of Morea, and to 
recall in " clear dream and solemn vision," the mighty intellects 
who of old peopled these shores of Greece. Oh ! it was deli- 
cious to float amidst the isles, ujwn this morning, around the 
promontory of Suniuui, past the temple of Pallas upon its rocky 
crest, or amid the waves which wash Navarino ; and which at a 
later day than that upon which they kissed the victorious prows 
of Themistocles at Salamis, bore the united fleets of Russia^ 
England, and France, in array against the fleets of the Bospho- 
rus and of Alexandria, and when in signal defeat the Turk was 
compelled to yield to Greece her dear-bought freedom. In fine, 
there is a delight which only belongs to dream-land and the Le- 
vant which we have cxjierienced throughout these waters, where 



ORIEMAL LUXURY AND CLASmc ISLES. 255 

Beauty loves to linger, and where crusading heroism roamed 
whilome ; but after all, the apex of sensuous delight , the ulti- 
mate gratification of all the senses at once, lies in a Turkish 
bath. It laps the world of sense in a new Elysium. 

The process consists simply of bath-rooms of heated air, in 
which, after becoming an embodied ooziness through perspiration, 
your attendant gently washes you in warm water, rubbing through 
many courses, including soaping and hair-glove processes ( as 
many as a French table d'hote), all the old Adam of clay out of 
you, leaving the original porcelain ; when swathed in warm linen 
turbaned and chibouqued, you are put away amidst pillowey otto- 
mans to " sleep — perchance to dream ;" and in that dream to be 
transported, in wavy motion, to new climes of softer skies and 
lovelier tintings, of mellower music and balmier fragrance. But 
— I wish I had leisure to tell you my dream as I sat all envelop- 
ed amidst a company of easy Greeks and luxurious Turks, in 
the baths of Smyrna. Two hours long it lasted. An Ameri- 
can never experiences at home such an in differ entison to all sub- 
lunary things. He never loses his earnest consciousness of what 
he is — where he is — what he is born for. But this is a pecu- 
liarity of Orientalism. Such an abominable waste of time would 
never do in America. One's clients would go off in a huffy, and 
business would disappear completely. But one should ilbt come 
to Turkey, unless he does as the Turks do, in some respects. 

I never knew what it meant to " eat like a Turk." before I 
saw these Islam people in Ramazan time, when after fasting all 
day, at the sound of the sundown gun, they turn in with pipe 
and knife, and eat and smoke " till daylight does appear," when 
the gun calls a halt. If we Christians were one-tenth as ob- 
sei-vant of our religion as these benighted Mussulmans, one could 
reasonably speak of the Millennium. Mahometanism is an un- 
ceasing prayei". The very atmosphere of the East seems fitted 
for this most holy, solemn, and devout exercise. If Moslemism 
be untrue (and why should I write it conditionally) ? what a 



256 ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 

condemnation awaits this Eastern world ; not for its sins, but 
for its devotion ! 

But I have bid farewell to the Turks. The last one left us 
at Smyrna. Our deck jabbers with Greeks yet ; who talk con- 
tinually, ever moving their beads, rapidly or slowly according 
to the ardor of their heart and the interest of their theme. The 
presence of a Franciscan so frequently seen in Italy betokens our 
westward course. The Austrian steamer, the best boat we have 
yet had, dashes on as I write. Already she has passed the gulf 
of Navarino ; and Zante just begins to look like a thin gauzy 
web in the distance. We shall run between that isle and the 
main land, w4ien look out for Mount Olympus ! By Jove ! I 
will be on deck then, and if this visual orb cannot discern the 
gods upon its snowy top, I will resurrect the shade of Old Ho- 
mer, and people imagination with the " powers imperial." 

And now (enrapturing thought !) we sail the same watery 
way he sailed. His gods drank nectar upon that cloudy height. 
His Ulysses sought his home along these very shores, and we 
shall harbor in the same inlets which his crafty sagacity select- 
ed. Ithaca will meet our eye to-day. the most Homeric spot 
existing except Troy, and Leucadia's pale cliflfs will shine to the 
eye as ever it has shone in classic light. 

Ourtf^nglish captains have kindly invited us to break our 
fast ashore with them in their barracks to-morrow at Corfu, 
where we shall regret to part with them. Corfu is the ancient 
Corcyra, where Athenian greatness met a signal check. All 
around us throngs, without system or order, the spirit of the 
past. Botzarris sleeps where he fell upon the mainland near 
Missolonghi, where, too, Byron " chose his ground and took his 
rest," after his feverish, unhappy, yet not ungenerous life. 
What a land for the poet to die in ? A land where each star 
in the lofty vault was a Deity, where each mount had its Oread, 
each river its Naiad, each fountain its Nymph, each woody copse 
its Dryad, and every scene its guardian angel ! A land where 
no superstitious fear prevailed, such as the dark forests of the 



ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 257 

North engendered ; but where the rapture of Hope lit up the soul, 
until it saw in the trembling of the orange-tree, and the beauty 
of its bloom, in the spray of the cascade and the prism which 
arched it, a living presence of grace 1 A land, where harmony 
of thought and energy of action were equally illustrated, in the 
stirring representations of the drama, gliding from the masked 
actor with all the music of measured rhythm and a tuneful 
tongue ; equally illustrated by the faithful eye and obedient 
hand of the artist, as his spirit caught a precision in delineation, 
which vanished imperceptibly into proportion, until there lived 
upon the rival canvas of Protogenes and Apelles, the charm- 
ing creations of the ideal. A land where science and truth, 
even, yielded to the spirit of beauty ; where stars and suns 
were compelled to move in harmony with a preconceived theory, 
in the unbroken circle, and not in the unharmonious ellipse ; 
where the perfection of the standard would not allow the idea 
of beauty to be analyzed ; although in its analysis the mind, 
like Newton, should separate its beam, clear, white, straight and 
dazzling, into the seven hues of the rainbow. Was it not a land 
for a poet to die in ? Was it not a land wherein Byron, with 
his irrepressible poetic sensibility, should breathe his last wild 
note for the liberty of his adopted country ? 

We passed the ancient Arcadia within the hour. Although 
its coast has not so much of the beetling, craggy aspect as other 
parts of the Morea, yet in vain I looked for the green sward 
or vista of leafage, with Pan playing his lute upon the gnarled 
roots of the woodland. No pastoral repose softly swelled to 
the rising hill. The bleakness and harshness of the shore, 
spoke of the people who now indolently and sinfully draw out 
an ignoble existence, where once rural life joyed in her favor- 
ite haunt. 

Yet we trust Greece has flung out the " banner with the 
strange device, Excelsior." Twenty years ago, Athens had 
not a house. Now it numbers 20,000 people. Missions and 
schools, colleges and archaeological societies, are exhuming the 



258 ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 

ancient spirit. The zeal of tlie intelligent Greeks for their an- 
cient literature is intense. In their schools are found little 
bright urchins, bearing the names of Leonidas, Aspasia, De- 
mosthenes, and Miltiades. 

The Morea can support five millions of people ; yet there is 
not 900,000 within its borders, and among these not a farmer 
worth $1000. The government is poor, and it is as mean as 
poor. Greece is rich ; how rich in its inheritance of greatness 
and in its future promise ! It lacks the moral stamina which 
alone conserve the public weal, and which would send back to 
Bavaria the contemptible Otho and his truckling parasites, 
and scorn the influence of Russia, which even in this sunny 
clime is exercised to chill popular aspiration. 

Well, we have arrived at Zante. As a sample of the Ionian 
isles, it is worth some notice. A rocky line, perpendicular and 
rough, forms the coast. A little art has been expended in 
making tlie harbor. On these heights are white bouses irregu- 
larly distributed, which form a town. As our steamer rounds to, 
eager and crowded boats rush out of their coverts. Their steamers 
never land. They drop anchoi", and the exit and entry are per- 
formed by little boats manned by jabbering Greeks. The scene 
which takes place at the gangway when these boats appi-oach, is 
indescribable. Never did Hubbub hold a more Babel-revelry. 
The Greeks crawl up by chains and ropes, and though kicked oflP, 
manage to fall into a boat and again mount up. The water swarms 
with them to-day. An unu.sual number of Zanteotes, say 150, 
are going up to Corfu to attend a festival. These fetes number 
about 160 per annum, excluding Sunday, which is the biggest 
jollification of all. The Roman church has a goodly number of 
sacred days ; but the Greek church overtops it. Why so many ? 
Where can they find time 1 Bless you ! Do you inquire after 
seeing these strutting dandies on deck, and those ladies dressed 
out and shivering with vanity like a pea-fowl on a chimney-top ? 
They look and swell as if they were severally Presidents and 
Queens of these isles. But their fortune is on their back. Nice 



ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 259 

patent-leather boots, fur-lined coats and jewelry, adorn the men 
and embroidered silk and satin, with enormous flounces, apparel 
the women ; but if you go into their houses, you see nothing — 
absolutely nothing. They live on gayety and olives. They dance 
all the time except in olive season, when a few have been seen to 
dig the ground. 

Now as I write we leave the isle, and the olive trees, ever 
green, embowering each mound and hill-slope, tell of the only 
riches (except the currant, which grows spontaneously) these 
idlers possess. The Olive requires little cultivation, and less 
soil. It grows almost upon the bare rocks, interweaving its roots 
like ivy ; the trees thus supporting each other. There is no 
water, no manure, to assist them. They grow on the principle 
that Sam Weller's horse went on ; he was too poor to pull, but 
once start the cart, and the shafts would keep him up and going 
while the impulse continued. 

The Zanteotes, I said, were a pattern of the present Greeks, 
not alone in their gayety, but in their mendacity and cunning. 
They play the rascal as a matter of course ; and have no respect 
for a man who does not. They live on little, are never in want, 
and keep their fetes more to gratify their love of ease than any 
religious sentiment. What is singular too, is, that they have 
not changed, these islanders, since Homer's time. The Pagan 
has given way to the Christian( 1) worship. That is all. Their 
moral character and pursuits, or rather lack of character and 
pursuits, ai'C the same. The only pursuit they follow with per- 
severance is the dance, and it is the same miserable dance which 
frolicked under the olive shade when Ulysses came back and 
gave the natives a grand fandango. Their music is an old reed 
or pipe, precisely the same used by Pan, and a kind of a monot- 
onous " turn ! tum ! tum !" made on a goat-skin spread over a 
wooden bowl. A slow drawling dance follows a slow drawling 
piping and thrumming ; yet more than half the year these idlers 
thus pass the time. Well, the currant will grow and the olive 
will ripen, and the Zanteotes will enjoy life merrily behind their 
cliffs and peaks. 



260 ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 

I learn from one of our English captains that he was Com- 
mandant of Ithaca, whose twin peaks lie oft" to the right, just as 
they did when Grecian song was young and Penelope watched 
(a pattern of a good wife, especially in her knitting !) for the 
coming of her lord. He informs me that there are many monu- 
ments there, Ulysses' castle and Arethusa's fountain, for in- 
stance, which bespeak its primitive greatness. Cephalonia we 
now approach. The only distinguishing point in that isle is, 
that the inhabitants do not allow their ladies ever to be seen. 
Our boat at last runs between Cephalonia or Samos (" Dash 
down that cup of Samian wine." — Byron) and Ithaca. A curious 
phenomenon is seen upon the former. The water of the sea 
flows into the land in currents or rivulets, which descend and 
are lost in the bowels of the earth. Grist-mills have been erected 
on them. They pay, too. Ithaca has the form of the figure 8, 
and is in the middle about a half mile wide. It is just as it was 
in Ulysses' time, devoid of any level lawn. Captain Lowry 
informs me that there is not one hundred square feet of level. 
Well might the Chief Ulysses refuse the present of horses off"ered 
him by the Persian monarch, for neither mead nor plain can 
supply the horse with food or indulge his speed. 

The sun had gone down when we entered the straits between 
these two isles. The dark mountains hung over in deep shadow, 
which the moon relieved by silvering their tops and revealing 
the old ruins of the Castle of Ulysses, as well as the sight of the 
old city, whence came the twenty-four suitors of Penelope. Only 
one little white house gleams out of the shadows below. Above 
are the famous sarcophagi, populous with human bones. The 
clear water shines with' phosphorescent sparkle and milder 
moonlight, as we dart out into the open sea, with our prow 
toward Corfu. The coasts of Albania glide low and dim in the 
far-ofi" East. The heavy breakers begin to tell vipon my sensi- 
bilities, and I retire to wake up in the harbor of Corfu. 

The Ionian islands have an organization which externally 
resembles somewhat our own federation. The states are, to 



ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. OQ{ 

be sure, undex- British influence and protection. Ionia was 
ceded to England by the treaty of Paris in 1815, and -^vas 
thus rescued from the domination of Russia. The internal 
organization is regulated by a Parliament, consisting of a High 
Commissioner, a Senate, and a Legislative Assembly. The 
Commissioner, like our President, has a veto and is the execu- 
tive, having under his control the police and foreign relations. 
He is represented by a President in each island, who stands in 
the relation of our Grovernors to our States. The Senate is 
elective. The four larger isles, Corfu, Zante, Cephalonia and 
St. Maura, send one member each. The lower house is elective, 
and consists of forty members, and meets every second year. 
These isles of the Adriatic are prospering under this form of 
government. The care of Great Britain is tutelage to their 
inexperience. The Grecm mendax is as common here as in 
other parts of Attica, unfitting, by its corrupt influence, the 
people from exercising in its purity the sufl"rages of honest free- 
men. Indeed, in Greece itself, where universal 6ufi"rage obtains, 
the government never fails to triumph, by means of false boxes 
for ballots and other fraudulent contrivances. Hence the Rus- 
sian party is always dominant. The Liberal party must first 
reform the morals of the mass, so that they can feel an outrage 
upon their rights, and then they may be able to vindicate them. 
Shade of Demosthenes ! If you could only fulminate over 
Greece, and awake the consciences of your degenerate country- 
men, then Hope, winged like the image of Victory on the Acro- 
polis, might visit each sacred haunt to revivify the glories of 
the past. 

At Zante, there are three forts very strong and extensive. 
Several regiments are stationed here, to which belong our two 
Captain-companions. They were of our party, when the Nubian 
slave rattanned our firman, and drove us away from the mosque 
of St. Sophia, in Constantinople. Our ignoble retreat before a 
negro was a bond of sympathy which has united us ever since. 
The retreat of the ten thousand under Xenophon was nothing to 



262 ORIENTAL LUXURY AAI) CLASSIC ISLES. 

ours. What was worse, we could not " knock the negro down," 
without danger of instant death in a Moslem mob. 

Our captains sent their pleasure-boat for us, and escorted us 
around the forts, barracks, and esplanade, which make Corfu at 
once as formidable as it is beautiful. The isles of olive sur- 
rounding the hai'bor break the roughness of the sea, and give to 
the prospect a lake-appearance encircled by lofty hills. The 
coasts of Albania shut in the circle with their gateways of rock. 
The regiment of the Captains is the immortal 47th, celebrated 
by Harry Lorrequer, and was formerly that of General Wolfe. 
They stormed the heights of Abraham, and (what was better) 
were prisoners in Boston during the Revolution. The same plate 
and other appendages of the regiment have descended to the 
present " Mess." The Mess is a quasi incorporation, and holds 
some thousands of pounds worth of interesting relics. We shall 
never forget the cordial civility of these oflScers of the 47th. 
May they always be victorious, except when Uncle Sam is their 
enemy ! Their courtesy did not end in showing us the Lord 
High Commissioner's palace, or the splendid intrenchments and 
forts. We found on our return a basket of fi'uitage, which could 
not have grown in any other isle than this, which rejoiced in the 
ancient gardens of Alcinous. Oranges large enough for cante- 
lopes, bright and golden, with the green leaves and twigs still 
about them. Plums, jjurple outside, and sanguine within ; cher- 
ries black as they were glossy ; citrons losing their green in the 
silvery yellow ; apples whose scarlet would put to blush our best 
horticulture, and mellow as the plums ; apricots plump in their 
mealy lusciousness ; figs fresh, and bursting their seams to show 
the glistening white and -red that wooed the tooth ; and by no 
means last or least, large peaches, emulating the color while 
rivalling the size of our red-cheeked melekatoons (spell it better 
if you can !) — all these on the first of July, and after we have 
exhausted the grape season of Smyrna. I would not omit the 
almonds, pears, and melons, so common I forgot them. The na- 
tives here, the year round, live on fruits and wine ; and keep 



ORIENTAL LUXURY AND HLAS^IC ISLES. 263 

good health the mean time. Our health is by no means so bad, 
but that the above basket will vanish before we '• tread water" 
in the limpid streets of Venice. 

Before our steamer began to pant away from Corfu, our kind 
friends sailed by, on their way to Albania, boar-shooting ; and 
stopped to say "good-bye." The last word of the gallant Cap- 
tain Lowry, an Irishman by the way, was : " Mrs. C , now 

don't forget to go to Killarney !" and as his boat careered away, 
there was borne on the breeze the words — " No more Mahome- 
tan niggers ! ha ! ha ! ha !" 

How kindly and warmly the words of friendship and courtesy 
fall upon the ear of the pilgrim. Not more musically sweet 
murmurs the fountain ' which shakes its loosened silver in the 
sun,' than the voice of a kindred spirit, in a far-off country be- 
yond the sea. To hear a warm-hearted Englishman quote Long- 
fellow with pride, and repeat Chatham's eloquent appeal for 
America with enthusiasm, were enough to banish ' squint suspi- 
cion,' and bid us hail him as our elder brother, had we no sub- 
stantial evidence of genuine hospitality. If every English 
captain is as near like Sir Calidore in courtesy as Captain 
Fordyce or Lowry of the 47th, the army of England is nobly 
officered. 

A fine veil of gossamer begins to invest the receding isles. 
We leave them in their unclouded canopy. But our memory of 
them — sweet is the balm which preserves it, as a sacred relic in 
life's pilgrimage. We leave them with tearful regret, clad as of 
yore in their azure vesture. Thus have they ever been ; what 
Homer saw of them, they seemed to Byron ; what Anacreon be- 
held in them, Shelley rejoiced to see. What Creation's dawn 
beheld, this day we see — enriched by the spoils of time and 
the associations of renown. Sleep on bright isles of Grreece ! 
Eternal summer gilds your sea ; and ye sleep so tranquil under 
a sky 

" So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
That riod is to be seen in Heaven." 



264 ORIENTAL LUXURY AND CLASSIC ISLES. 

We expected by this time to have been ' within thy gates, 
Jerusalem.' But we learned at Athens that no steamer 
left for Joppa until the 25th of July. Too late that : for the 
Syrian sun has already all the heat, without the pleasure of a 
Turkish bath. To have been within ten days of the city which 
' sits solitary' — the fulfilment of all prophecy ; to have sailed 
within three days of the excellency and glory of the cedars of 
Lebanon ; and not to have seen them, will it not be forever a 
drawback upon our retrospect ? But suppose we had been in 
Zion, and surmounted Olivet, where David and a Greater than 
David went up sorrowfully ; how could we have left Palestine 
without visiting the most beautiful of all cities — Damascus. 
Could we have had the continency of Mahomet and turned away 
from it as he did, saying, ' one Paradise is all that is allotted to 
man. I will take mine in the other world !' We fear not. But 
regrets are useless. Our face is set as a flint, no longer Zion- 
ward. The Adriatic is ploughed by our keel. As we turn 
homeward, the heart throbs more warmly ; and when we are 
again in our native valley, we shall dwell in much content there, 
grateful to God if He shall permit us yet a few more years with 
our friends, and a resting spot at last amid our own Muskingum 
hills. 



XX. 

Una Italum regina, alta> inilclierrimae RomaB, 
^mula, qute terris, quae dominaris aquis. 
O decus ! O lux Ausoiiia; ! 

WE are in Venice. For moi'e than a week we have been tossing 
on the waters of the Mediterranean, straining in every 
phmk to reach this point of the Adriatic. The isles have passed 
like unrealities before the mind ; the East, with its many-shaped 
and colored costumes and scenery, has come and gone, leaving 
but its memory in dreamy outline floating in the soul. The 
unreality has not yet ceased ; for we are again in the midst of 
wonders, not the least among which is the watery street that 
plays against our door, and the grotesque and unique architec- 
ture which is overlooked by the tower of St. Mark's. 

Yesterday (Sunday) we arrived at Trieste, the only Austrian 
port of any consequence. It is remarkably clean, and hand- 
somely built, at the head of the Adriatic. The streets are finely 
paved, and the promenades, green and enticing, lie along the 
harbor in grateful umbrage. It reminded us of New- York, ex- 
cept that each street was a Broadway in the regularity of the 
tall stone houses and solid paves. We drove about the city. 
On every side are groups and crowds of people in their Sunday 
best, laughing and listening to the music. The cafes are all 
thronged with eaters of ices and drinkers of wine. Our ride 
extended down between the two lofty hills, within whose scoop 
the city lies. We found a splendid cafe upon the side hill, with 
walks under oak groves winding up to the summit, and all 



crowded with people listening to music, and j^artaking of refresh- 
ment. We joined the throng much against our puritan princi- 
ples. Waltzing whirled around in the houses of the poorer 
people as we passed. Sunday seemed absolutely sunk in the 
general joyousness. A few Russian soldiers reminded us of the 
union of Austria with her kindly ally, while numbers of the 
white-dressed soldiers of Austria spoke of the iron coei'cion 
which keeps down the spirit of the masses in the Lombardo- 
Venetian province of the Hapsburgs. And yet — why speak of 
their spirit^ poor, contemptible, despot-fawning crowds ; are 
they not enslaved by the very music and gayety which their 
masters have provided for them % And is it not the same sly 
expedient which now blows through brass, and beats on sheep 
skin in the piazza of St. Mark's, followed by eager thousands, 
totally absorbed in the pursuit 1 There are other chains than 
those of iron. Ignoble case and oblivious gayety are worse than 
prisons of stone, and manacles of iron. They indicate a subjec- 
tion of mind, and a meanness of spirit, wholly incompatible with 
the generous impulses and noble aims of freemen. 

A heavy fort overlooks Trieste, from one of the hills — rather 
ominous. Similar forts wcra near Genoa and Rome, when the 
first of 1848 dawned. But they now lie in ruins — the expres- 
sion of aroused popular indignation. Fine villas, embowered in 
green trees, and surrounded with vines and fruits, line the slopes 
of the hills around Trieste. Our star-spangled flag floats from 
two noble ships in port — the Independence and the Mississippi. 
They look a little saucy here, after Webster's letter. I wonder 
what business they have ! They seem to say, " Just hang a spy, 
Sir Buzzard, an thou darest ; but if you do, we will blow you 

to " I beg pardon — it is Sunday. One is apt to forget 

peace principles while abroad. The guns were firing, the music 
braying, and people hallooing, at a great rate. How could ono 
think it was the Sabbath day ? 

There are daily steamers to Venice, small though they be, 
Indeed, owing to the wash of the Alpine rivers, which Jiere 



THE CITY OF THE SEA. 267 

empty, the Adriatic is not more than twelve fathoms deep, in 
and around these, her northern shores ; hence these small boats. 
In coming into Venice, we had to sound with a long pole, as we 
wound between the piles driven to show the channel in the 
Lagoon. The sea is completely bi'oken for eighty miles along 
the coast, by numerous isles, as well as by the noble rampart 
erected on the Lido di Palcstrina, whose marble appearance and 
solid material unites beauty with utility, and forms a public 
monument not excelled by the Pireus, the mole of Ancona, or 
by any other similar work in the world. Venice itself is built 
upon seventy-two isles, in which piles are driven for the houses. 
Hence, such a city can sleej) in comparative peace amidst the 
waters ; though gondolas have been known to attend mass in 
St. Mark's ! The mail from Alexandria and India is not carried 
by Venice, bvit by Trieste, in consequence of the shallowness of 
the waters. 

For an hour before we reached Venice, the city was an- 
nounced through its elegant cupolas and towers, rising out of 
the sea. The country around was flat, but now and then a silver 
thread of snow would glisten out of the Tyrol beyond, which 
rose under cloud-vestments, lofty and sublime. A few sail of 
colored canvas, peculiar to these shores, float by us. We pass 
around green isles, whereon are palaces. Orange groves and 
marble steps kiss the water's edge, and gondolas — floating 
hearses — begin to appear, but not trim and graceful, as the 
caiques of the Bosphorus. Sea-weed, as Rogers describes it, 
clings to the marble palaces. How variant is the verdure of 
the trees, ranging from the deep green of the cypress to the 
pale, yellowish green of the flowering locust. The Venetian 
Gothic, so nearly resembling the Byzantine style, rears its 
swelling domes from the sea. Soon watery alleys and streets 
begin to open, and little spanning bridges bend darkling far 
down the perspective. A few more dashes of the steamer, and 
we drop anchor in front of the Ducal Palace, at the mouth of 
the Grand Canal, and in view of the twin pillars, on one of 



268 THE CITY OF THE SEA. 

whicli the authentic winged lion starts back with open mouth 
and snarling teeth ; and upon the other, St. Theodore standing 
upon the crocodile, and, with an auriole around his brow, sheds 
his influence upon the magnificent temple of St. Mark, the fine 
Piazza, and this unique " City of the Sea." We do not long 
remain gazing at the unusual spectacle. A gondola plays the 
part of an omnibus, and drives us around to a hotel. We pull 
up at a by-door, ring a bell, and are welcomed at Doniella's. 
We found there five sovereigns — the Elector of Saxony and four 
Americans ! 

Being expeditious travellers, we immediately set about our 
work of sight-seeing. It is not easy labor by any means, and 
the best part of the pleasure lies in the review, during the ex- 
pected hours of the winter fireside. 

We found ourselves upon the Square of St. Mark. The 
grim and gloomy prison, connected by the Bridge of Sighs with 
the Ducal Palace — a place to freeze the soul with horror, — is 
passed before we reach the lesser piazza, in front of which our 
boat landed. The Venetian tower, brother to the ungainly- 
looking sentinel which clings to the Acropolis at Athens (where 
it is entirely out of place), springs out of the piazza some 300 or 
400 feet high. A solemn and sweet bell rings in deep bass the 
hour of five. We gaze at the strange old vicissitudinous lion, 
which has so long presided over the destiny of the Venetian, 
and which some years ago paid a visit to Paris, exciting as much 
curiosity there as veneration here. This lion is the representa- 
tive of St. Mark, the patron of the city. The king of beasts 
has been associated with that Evangelist, because the lion seen 
by Ezekiel in his mystic' vision is supposed to be the prototype 
of St. Mark. 

Around the corner to the left is the great Piazza. The 
columns of the cafe, covered with hangings, and the arcade of 
jewellers opposite, with the white marble palace, built by Napo- 
leon at the west, and the Church of St. Mark at the east, form 
a large hollow square, wherein the joy-loving, mustei-ing, trading, 
curious and devout citizens of Venice arc wont to cong-reerate. 



TEE CITY OF THE SEA. 269 

St. Mark's, statued and niched, with its four bronze horses 
and lion, all glittering with mosaic and gilt, surmounted by its 
fine cupolas and pretty little domes above (how I like those 
domelets !), has a finer ground of vantage to display its sin- 
gular style of beauty than any church, except St. Peter's, that 
we have seen. The first object after gazing above at the mo- 
saics, in which St. Mark and his tomb play a prominent part, 
is the red lozenge stone, whereon the reconciliation between Pope 
Alexander III. and the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa took 
place, and where the former placed his foot upon the prostrate 
head of the latter, adding contempt to the abasement by saying, 
" Thoii shalt tread iqjon the lion and the adder.'''' Oh i impo- 
tent foolery ! Where are ye now, Alexander and Frederick ? 
If ye are in Heaven, (?) little children are greater there than 
ye both ! 

The church within is dark. Golden mosaics give general 
tone to its appearance. Marbles of every kind, precious stones, 
among which I saw an agate six inches in diameter in the form 
of a dome, pillars from St. Sophia, which this church is said to 
resemble in its primitive adornments, transparent alabaster and 
exquisite jasper, meet the eye above, around, and below. In- 
deed, we tread upon the finest mosaic paves we have yet seen. 
The oozy foundation has broken the level, as well as many of 
the stones. While St. Mark's was in process of erection, each 
vessel was bound, upon every voyage, to bring home some piece 
of marble or precious stone to form a part of the structure. This 
will account for their abundant variety. To speak plainly, the 
church is made up of the results of petty larcenies in time of peace 
and under color of war. Even the body of St. Mark was stolen 
from Alexandria by some " wily Venetian," and is entombed in 
the centre of the church. The church is in the form of a Greek 
cross. There is not the freslmess and brilliancy of St. Peter's 
in St. Mark's, but there is a greatness and antiquity about it 
which impresses it more solemnly on the mind. Massive doors, 
old inscriptions, bass-reliefs, fluted and spiral pillars, outre sculp- 



270 THE CITY OF THE SEA. 

tures, together with a fine sacristy, constitute the inner adorn- 
ment, over which the reflective golden light from the mosaics is 
poured in a dim, religious flood. But the outside is the most 
peculiar afi"air in Venice. Indeed, there is nothing like it any 
where. The four horses were brought, in the earlier eras, from 
the Hippodrome of Constantinople, and have played important 
parts upon numerous triumphal arches in Rome and Paris. 
Examine the entrance particularly. Prophets and Evangelists, 
allegorical figures of the months and of all trades, mystical fig- 
ures of beasts and birds, many of them reminding you of " the 
half horse, half man, and the rest snapping-turtle," crockets and 
finials filled with statues, give the effect of a Gothic cathedral, 
intermingled with which is an Oriental style ; and this combi- 
nation has given to St. Mark's its sui generis character. 

Was my reader at Cincinnati during the great rise of the 
Ohio, in the winter of 1848? Does he remember how the 
streets in the neighborhood of Lower Market looked in their 
watery garb 1 Just so, — with a difi"erence in the color of the 
water and the kind of houses, — looked Venice when we caught 
its first impression between sun-down and moon-rise as we rowed 
up the grand canal to the Rialto. The impression of a flooded 
city, flattened houses, with desertion and desolation, could not 
be removed ; although lamps gleamed at the door-ways, and 
marble steps were washed conveniently by the wave. Soon 
lights began to flicker and glance upon the gondola and bridge, 
which the water gave back with added brilliancy. We listened 
in vain for the songs of Tasso, sung under the rising moon by 
gondoliers, — in vain for serenading lovers with eyes upturned to 
the balconies, where we did see many a fair Desdemona ; in vain 
for the Tobarro of the men and the Zendale of the women, — 
those national dresses of Venice in her proud days of indepen- 
dence. Austrian rule has robbed the home of Cassio and of 
honest lago of that romance which has been associated with 
Venice, in the stage representation of Othello. The gondoliers 
near the Rialto made as much noise as the kind people who 



THE CITY OF THE SEA. 271 

rapped up Brabantio to tell him that his daughter had ran off 
with the jealous blackamoor. 

In default of foreign romance, we started a little of the 
Buckeye — some domestic songs from our gondola, and right 
sweetly sounded the voices of the songstresses, vibrating upon 
the silent water among the palaces of the merchant Kings. 
Their song echoed the scene ; 

" 'Tis midnight hour, the moon shines bright ; 
Tlie dew-drops blaze beneath lier rays ; 
The twinkling stars — their trembling light 
Like Beauty's ejss display." 

An hour upon the Piazza listening to other music, and en- 
joying the ices, and again we are housed for the night. 

We had hardly been housed, before our sovereign cousin of 
Saxony, dressed in stately style, with a flaming retinue, departed 
to attend an evening party, to which we could not go, oioing tu 
excessive fatigue. E^d we known, however, the rich treat which 
was afforded him, we certainly should have joined his train. 
Large gondolas of singers were arranged to precede him ; an 
hundred gondolas followed, each moving to the music with muf- 
fled oar ; lights glanced around from window and balcony. Boat 
answered boat in Venetian song, and all joined the chorus. 
When they reached the Rialto, a great blue light flashed forth, 
which displa^^ed the whole scene, while the singers arranged 
under the swelling arch of the bridge made the welkin tremble 
with the freight of melody. 

In some respects I am disappointed in Venice. I expected, 
or rather wished, to find it the Venice of the Doges. It is not 
so large as I expected. We have just returned from the sum- 
mit of the great tower in the Piazza. It aftbrds a fine view of 
the surrounding country, but not of the city. The city must be 
seen from the canals. The churches are distinguished by their 
domes and cupolas, from which there rolls up music from the 
swcctcst-toncd bells we have vet heard. The isles and tlie 



272 '^^^ (^ITY OF THE SEA. 

royal garden near St. Mark's are the only green spots to break 
the sameness of the crockery tiles. The city seems like one 
isle out of the tower, from which the canals are unseen, connect- 
ed with the main land by the bridge of the railroad (three miles 
long), leading to Milan. The hills of the west range up along 
the horizon, beyond which sleeps Ferrara. Odd looking chim- 
neys, made apparently to catch rain, open their mouths in des- 
perate yawns, while under and around them, upon the flat roofs, 
are frequently seen tables, chairs, and flowers, where resort at 
evening this air-loving people. The Adriatic is dotted with 
piles and gondolas, as well as with isles. To-day it is cloudy 
and gloomy. The breeze comes keen with driplets of rain. We 
take a glance at a few of the leaning towers of oozy Venice, and 
descend to visit the Ducal Palace. 

The lion's mouth — scms the mouth — is at its old orifice of 
accusation. We enter superb stair-cases, passing the spot where 
Doge Marino Faliero was crowned and — hanged ; and after 
looking until the eye aches at jjietures «f Venetians fighting 
Turks, and Doges being received and blessed by Popes, we find 
ourselves in the Great Council Chamber. It is a noble hall. 
At one end is a picture of Paradise, the largest oil painting in 
the world, being 85 by 35 feet. The room is 176 feet long and 
185 broad, and is used as a library. How I love to enter a 
silent, solemn library, filled with the embound essence of the 
past, concentrated in words that ' live an immortality rather 
than a life.' Here, in this palace, lives have been strangled 
under the decree of the infernal Covxncil of Ten ; here the 
best blood of Venice was spilt at the beck of the ci-uel Decem- 
vir ; but in these alcoves the best compensation for blood is 
treasured up for a ' life beyond life.' How calmly, now, do these 
spirits rest in their bindings of white. Not more peacefully 
rests their dust in the cerements of the grave. 

" Here all the rage of controversy ends 
And rival zealots rest like bosom friends : 
Socinians here with Calvinists abide, 



THE CITY OF THE SEA. 273 

And Uiin partitions angry chiefs divide ; 
Here wily Jesuits simple Quakers meet, 
And Bellarmine has rest at Lnther's feet." 

If these sectarian controversialists sleep not here, I am sure 
Tasso has repose in the bowers of his own muse, and Dante 
feels no pang of exile in these hospitable shelves All around 
arc the forms of the Doges looking down upon their ancient 
hall. Only one portrait is wanting. A black curtain hangs 
over the place where Marino — the infamous — might have been. 

The Venetian style of painting is admirable in more re- 
spects than having definitiveness of outline and clearness of 
expression, without which, whatever connoisseurs may say, paint- 
ing is irksome to the eye, if not perplexing to the mind. Some 
persons make a merit of admiring paintings because they are 
dim and indefinite. The darker the outline, the more gloomy 
the figures — and the greater the visual efi'ort to see M"hat the 
artist may have designed, the more excellent, in their eye, is 
the painting. To all- such, we would simply say, " look to the 
Transfiguration of Raphael — the mightiest efi'ort of the pencil ; 
and if you can find in it any dim, dark uncertainty, clinging 
about the forms or the idea which they embody, then hang your 
galleries full of blackish landscapes and shady forms, and call 
them — beautiful." How much more admirable in this regard is 
the painting of Venice than the school of Naples ! But hurry 
is the word ! The Council of Ten no longer close their myste- 
rious door. The Council of Three have lost theii' guard. We 
enter each. Aye ! even the deep, dark dungeons where the 
political prisoner received the rack, and the massive doors which 
lead to the Bridge of Sighs opens, and with spectral lamp- 
light we view each den of horror, and gaze out of those bars 
where the sad prisoners looked last at the clear moonlight 
which was reflected from the Adriatic ! The instruments of 
fiendish torture were in the Arsenal. We only saw its ex- 
terior. 

How these sights speak of the cruel past ! What a pro- 



274 THE CITY OF TILE SEA. 

gress lias man made even here, where Austria holds the key, 
since the golden days when the marriage ring was cast into the 
Adriatic ! What a change could be marked upon that large 
globe in the library, where America in the sixteenth century is 
drawn in doubtful limning beyond the sea, and upon which I 
remarked the Florida Indians only as inhabiting the United 
States ! Navigation has improved since the era when the Ve- 
netian ran to Crete and Byzantium, or planted the golden ball 
upon her mast as the symbol of her commercial glory. 

In one respect the Venetians may boast. They have no dust 
to blind the eye of the passenger. Their streets are locll tva- 
tcred. Another item is, that you hear no clatter of carriages 
or drays. No common council is troubled to death about pav- 
ing the way. But as an offset, it must be confessed that pile- 
driving is troublesome, although bathing is handy. Water for 
drinking is carried about upon the shoulders by women and 
sold. It is drawn from the wells of bronze in the Ducal Piazza, 
into which it is poured for filtration after being boated into 
the city. 

With dirt and sea-weed as her foundation, Venice has arisen 
from the sea, a city of might, and of wonderful duration in the 
course of time. For thirteen centuries, she continued indepen- 
dent and potent, unattacked by the scourges of the North, who 
overran the beautiful plains of Lombardy ; and during that time 
extended her sway over great nations, from the Pireus — whose 
lions yet adorn her harbor — to Constantinople, where her towers 
yet bespeak her conquests ! 



XXI. 

Eniiilinrhii,— (TliE (lonrhn nf i\}t WA 

" Every tree, well from liis fellow grew, 
With branches Ijj'oad, laden with leaves new. 
That sprangen out against the sunny sheen." 

Beaumont S Fletcher. 

THE Austrian power is by no means to be contemned. One 
need not sojourn long oven in Italy to ascertain that. This 
garden spot of the world, stretching from the Apennines and the 
Po to the Alps, has been sadly divided since our ancestral 
relatives, the Long Beards or Lombards, held it ; and rejoiced 
to hold it under Queen Theolinda and the Iron Ci"Owu. A con- 
siderable portion of proud old Lombardy, including the Queen 
of the Adriatic, now owns the Austrian yoke. The treaty of 
Vienna, in 1814, which &xed, tcnijjorari/?/, the destiny of the 
Bonapartes (for the world is not yet done with them), also fixed 
in Austria all its former possessions, including Venice, which 
she had not before the revolutionary war. These possessions 
were erected into a distinct kingdom from that of Austria pro- 
per, and are known as the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom. There 
are two governments, Venice with 2, 168, §53 inhabitants, and 
Milan with some five thousand more than Venice. 

These plains of Lombardy have ever been the theatre of 
ravages and wars. Long before Marengo, Lodi, and Arcoli were 
fought by Bonaparte, these fertile plains had attracted the eye 
of the savage Teutons, as they looked down through the Alpine 
passes. The best part of Italy, described by Virgil as the 
ubere glehac et potens armis, — the land of the mulberry and the 
worm, the vine and the olive — the realm of beautiful lakes rair- 



276 LOME ARDY — THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 

roring lofty mountains, — the instructress of Christendom during 
the middle ages, in civil law and medicine, — now wears the badge 
of the Austrian, from the Northern to the Maritime Alps, 
stretching from the frontiers of Piedmont, where the Austrian 
in white uniform demanded our passports before we launched 
upon Maggiore, to the city of watery streets, which the reader 
has skimmed in my last chapter. 

You may remember, that while at our hotel in Rome, one of 
the servants being a Republican, received a notice from Richard 
Roe, the government in possession, to quit the premises within 
a given time ; and that we proposed to annex him to our confed- 
eracy. Well he met us, as agreed, in Venice, and by his know- 
ledge of Italian, solved for us many difficulties. He bears the 
swelling and artistic name of Domiuichiuo Pollano, and loves 
priests as do the other Republicans of 1848. 

The Elector of Saxony, whom we shall ever respect as the 
successor to the great and good defender of Luther, was deter- 
mined not to be left behind by us. We found him at the rail- 
road station with his Queen, in the royal train, about to puff 
homeward. He seems always to beat us. We were behind him 
at the Venetian tower yesterday morn. We liked his homely and 
matter-of-fact air, but his aide-de-camp — Oh ! mercy of mo ! 

" lie had so tricked himself with Art, 
That of himself he was least part." 

The Queen sat in her golden chair in the car, as it whizzed 
by the long stretched necks of prying Venetians, who seemed to 
snuff with eagerness the air of royalty. We were soon in full 
chase over the three-mile bridge, then out of the marshy land into 
the garden of gardens. On either side mulberries, festooned with 
and joined together by vines pendant with embryo clusters, 
made vistas of exceeding loveliness. The trees were linked hand 
and hand by their green tendrils and branches, and as our cars 
dashed by, they danced jubilantly and gracefully. All nature 
was inwoven in one verdant texture ; the ploughed fields, off of 



LOMBARDY—THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 277 

wliicli the first crop had been taken, and which were now sowed 
for the second, of millet, lay between the linked arbors, alternat- 
ing with the yellow and green fields. Southern Italy was luxu- 
riant, but scorched and dusty ; England was rural with comfort 
and beauty ; France was clad in vineyards from the base of its 
swelling hills to their summits, but here, — here, is the verdur- 
ous heart of Nature, irrigated by Alpine showers and torrents, 
and throbbing with vegetable life to its minutest fibre. But 
why so many mulberries ? Ah ! do you ask, after looking into 
those halls, where roll a thousand reels, upon whose circuit the 
silken tomb of the worm is wound in glossy tenuity under the 
property of easiness which dwells in the fingers of the Italian 
women % And do you boast, Ohioan, that your State in a half 
century holds nearly two millions of souls supported by a vigor- 
ous agriculture ? Listen to the story of progress in this Aus- 
trian dependency, in spite of exactions and insecurity, and be 
ready to confess that the man of indx;stry and energy is not alone 
an American nor a Republican. 

The white mulberry is a dwarfish thickly-leaved tree, and is 
the source of Lombard wealth. In thirty years, the production 
of silk from the fibre of this tree, and the spinning-worm feeding 
from it, has grown from a small value to the enormous sum of 
$50,000,000. In 1800, the Lombardo- Venetian kingdom did 
not exceed 1,800,000 lbs. of silk. In the dry and hilly parts of 
the country, the worm works to the best advantage ; but through- 
out the whole of the kingdom, there is an activity in this branch, 
which furnishes to the people every comfort and convenience. 
Especially around Padua and Verona, to which our car is rapidly 
drawing near, is the silk culture prolific. 

We had barely time to glance at Padua, renowned as the seat 
of the University, and of the Duomo of Michael Angelo. If I 
remember aright, it was from this queenly city of Padua that 
there came the ' second Daniel' to judge the case of the merchant 
of Venice, and she did judge it right learnedly for a ' timid fe- 
male.' Vincenza, on a lofty hill, all beautified in leafiness, forti- 



278 LOMBARUY-rilE GARDEN OF THE WoULD. 

fied aud romantic, was soon lost to the eye, which wandered far 
over to the right, above the mountains of Tyrol, which in their 
coverings of cloud peeped out in a shower of rain. The hills 
toward Ferrara glistened in green. A slight breeze turned up 
the silvered willow leaves white to the view, while they rustled. 
Through the shower we looked very hard for the obelisk, aud 
not in vain, which marks the desperate battle of Arcoli, fought 
upon a spot between the cities of Vincenza and Verona, upon 
the banks of the Adigo. Here Napoleon gave the best evidence 
on record of personal daring : here he was torn from his guards 
leading the forlorn hope, surrounded in the midst of the swamps, 
and protected only by the single arms of his aids, when the thril- 
ling cry of " Save the General /" rang down the ranks of the dis- 
heartened French, and rallied them to victory ! Here Lannes 
was wounded ; and here the child of destiny himself received 
some of the first intuitions of the great calling which eventuated 
in his becoming the head of the empire. We entered Verona 
after dark, so that I could not see Shakspeare's " two gentlemen." 
Neither could I imagine any place in the dusky shade so com- 
pletely romantic as the balcony of Juliet, nor observe any wall 
so provokingly high as to try the vigorous assault of the fond 
Romeo. 

The cars stop here. Diligence is our next vehicle ; and the 
morning found it tumbling into the famous city where the Cheva- 
lier Bayard displayed so much courage and gallantry, — I mean 
Brescia. We passed Lake Garda in the night. I have an indis- 
tinct notion of seeing a moon floating in a lucent wave, as we 
rattled along the margin of the lake, through a stony little town 
called Lugano. My consciousness was sufficiently restored to 
try a breakfast at Brescia. 

Italy is no rank garden run to seed, or unweeded. Tidy aud 
trim is each grape-vine and mulberry grove. At every turn we 
see women serving the reel and handling the cocoon, digging the 
ground and pruning the vines. Old fashioned, overshot wheels 
turn the machinei-y, and the same torrent which turns them. 



LOMBARDY—IUE GARDEN OF THE WOKLL. 279 

gives drink to thcgpoil. The harvest was mostly in. A few 
gleaners were in the fields. The rivers along our way were all 
walled against the Alpine floods. Men were flailing like a band 
of Taluses, at the wheat, with women in high hats assisting the 
operation. A Yankee^ thrashing machine would scare these tor- 
rents to their sources. Shrines were plenty along the way, con- 
taining rude pictures of the Madonna or some favorite Saint, 
hung with flowers. Heavy loaded two-wheeled wagons — having 
wine casks upon the top, and a human underneath in a hammock, 
swinging amid dust and sound asleep at the horses' heels, and 
rocks hanging fore or aft as ballast below to equalize the load 
— were drawn by five horses tandem, and not without the ever- 
lasting bell which must always jingle upon the highway. No 
beggars trot after us. The cars again receive us at Treviglio. 

The arrangement at the station is even beautiful. You are 
introduced into an elegant room, awaiting your time to start. 
A bell taps ! You start. " Nay — " says Dominichino ; " that 
is for baggage." ^ Another tap ! " That is the first class, for 
fools and princes." Yet another ! " Second class," and we find 
our door opened, and, without noise or confusion, are placed in 
ou.r right seat. In a twinkling we were off for Milan between 
rows of locusts, which provokingly shut out the view, while they 
gave to our ride, umbrageousness. 

We left Lodi and its gory honor on our south, crossed the 
Adra, and were soon knocking at the Posta gate of Milan, one 
of the most beautiful cities of the world. Our drive to the hotel 
is under a promenade, which constitutes the circumference of 
the city, and measures twelve miles ! Travellers have rarely 
described Milan as it really is, in all the splendor of its views, 
and the greatness of its extent. Standing, as it does, between 
the gorgeous palaces of nature upon the North, and the temples 
of art and luxury upon the South, and sweeping, as its tributary, 
the blossom and fragrance of Italia's garden, Milan should not 
alone be spoken of for its Duomo and its Arena, its Arch and 
its " Last Supper," by De Vinci ; but for its regal magnificence 



280 LOME ARDY— THE GARDENS OF THE WORLD. 

and commanding prospects. Lofty housei^elcgant court-yards 
and fine paves, are not wanting to make an unbroken perspec- 
tive of grandeur in the streets. But hold ! miracle of wonder ! 
what is that tall spire, sculptured and entablatured, rising from 
forth the sea of stone, " how silently," in its delicate and laby- 
rinthine magic of art ! Is it the phantasm of a dream, or the 
grotesque illusion of the clouds ? The white statues, as you ap- 
proach, people the slender pinnacles, and stand within the marble 
niches. This unparalleled Duomo has been likened to a river 
of marble shot into the air to a height of 500 feet, and then 
suddenly petrified while falling ! Surely it must have arisen 
like an exhalation " to the sound of dulcet symphonies and voices 
sweet ;" for it seems of the very air — airy in its frozen poetry. 

We did not long tarry without. We entered its dark, high 
nave, branching like monster trees of some other world ; and 
uplifted by octagon circular columns, so high, that they seem 
toppling to the upraised eye. The finest stained glass windows, 
perhaps, in the world, beautify the darksome aisles. The even- 
ing light slowly plays through every colored form of saint and 
prophet, flower and tracery. 

While we stand spell-bound, the janitor, who spoke bad 
English, came up and politely offered to show us the top. After 
dropping a few sous for the church at the portal, we wound up a 
spiral inclined plane, and within the magic marble mountain. 
We are soon amid the mazes above. Solid as earth, it seems a 
fairy city of towers. One hundred and fifty-five pinnacles point 
upward ; nearly 7,000 statues glance in the light, while niches 
stand waiting for 3,000 more ! Fifteen thousand different 
points are lifted from the roofs — for there are more roofs than 
one, as we find by ascending staircase on staircase. Below us, 
on the last roof, is the Bota?iic Garden! What! is Italy so 
prodigal of its verdure, that the Cathedral's top should bud and 
blow like the hanging gardens of Old Assyria ? It is only the 
marble which has sought, through genius and taste, manifold 
forms in the pointed spires. Fifteen thousand buds, flowers and 



LOMBARDY—THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 281 

fruits, each different, bloom perennially amid the ujiper air. and 
that without irrigation or pruning. 

This immense pile, an imperfect idea of which may be 
gathered from the engraving, has been centuries in completing. 
Napoleon, whose mind was ever ready to build monuments to 
art and himself, added an immense addition. Architects have 
discussed the minutest points of this Duomo in lines of solid 
quarto. Nearly thirty hundred millions of francs have been ex- 
pended upon it. An edifice as large as Grace Church, New-York, 
is upon its top as plainly as the Pantheon is upon St. Peter's. 

The view from it, is incomparably fine. The eye may float 
over the scenery of Italy, and revel in its fairest bowers, discern 
the cities around for forty miles, and to the north see those 
everlasting Alps, which lock up the gateways of Europe. The 
beautiful hills of Como and IMaggiore, surrounding the magic 
mirrors in which they are reflected ; the Saint Gothard ; farther 
west, the Simplon, through whose defiles we expect to pass ; the 
Monte liosa, white and radiant, except at sunset, when it illus- 
trates its name -in the sweetest of hues; Mount Cenis, to the 
direct west ; and further around, the line of the Apennines ; 
and to the southeast, the sweeping vale of the Po, with Cre- 
moni and Crema — all can be viewed from this lofty spot ! What 
a resplendent, magnificent, glorious creation is ours ! How 
full of beauty and sublimity ! Would that our distant fi-iends 
could behold these splendid Alpine temples upon the north, 
from this marble observatory, and the great pleasure-grounds 
which lie aroimd their feet in such luxuriance of vegetable life ! 

What are those scafi'oldings, observable as we descend, erected 
far up to the topmost rose of the pinnacle 1 We are informed 
by the custodian, that ten men are constantly employed upon 
these scafi"olds in cleaning the building, and that it takes them 
just twelve years to complete the circuit outside. 

Can it be that the Great Father of all is pleased with such 
stately structures, erected for His worship? Does He delight 
rather in the marbles of Italy, than the rude churches of our 



'^82 L0MBARDY,— T11E GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 

land ? Profitless inquisition ; for the temple of His love is the 
upright heart aud pure ; and where that bows — whether under 
swelling dome or homely altar — whether under the light of 
stained splendors, or under the white radiance of an open sky, 
His presence appears more glorious than all else beside in 
heaven, or in earth ! 

We did not leave Milan without a drive around the city. 
The Milancrs were still to be seen in their shops, with ribbons 
flaunting at the windows, and waxen images within, (horrible 
caricatures !) — ^just the same as when their taste gave name to 
the large class who now wear the badge of Milancr. We visit- 
ed the arch of Peace, with her chariot and six horses upon the 
top, commenced by Napoleon, as an arch of Victory ; and the 
great arena, where mimic naval battles were fought before 
Napoleon, and (the ring being changed into a more solid 
element by secret outlets) gladiatorial combats followed. From 
the front of the arena is seen the grand Piazza d'Arnii, where 
Bonaparte, after his uninterrupted successes upon those gar- 
den spots, against the hosts of Austria, reviewed his Italian 
armies; and here, too, is seen the castle which has now 10,000 
Austrians in it, and the Forum, around which walks are ranged 
in splendid style. 

One cannot but mark, througliout Italy, that suppressed 
veneration for the memory of Napoleon, which speaks more of a 
futU7-e, than any other element. The old soldier who showed us 
the Arena, seemed full to the brim Avith admiration ; but he ex- 
pressed it in the eye aud gesture, rather than with the tongue. 

There is no unity of place regarded in the chapters of the 
Traveller, such as the drama demands, so that I have liberty to 
leap from the Duomo upon the boldest wing, into the clear air, 
and alight upon the bosom of the lake of Como. Above me is 
a circular range of living green, speckled with white palaces. 
Between the two gateways, wherein the Madonna is enshrined, 
small red steamers ply and cleave the placid waters. An old 
castle with broken towers, speaks eloquently of a feudal time 



# 

LOMBARD Y,— THE GARLEN OF THE WORLD. 283 

from a forum of rock. Boats with fagots, manned by women, are 
jjutting into port, while a regiment of females are on their knees 
— washing clothes upon the stony brink. The air below is clear ; 
but the green mountains have lost their tops in a cloud. Music 
floats across the lake from the Austrian fort, and every thing of 
beauty is here to fill the eye. 

How tastefully has Nature decorated this valley of Como 
with landscapes of every variety of soft and sweet enchantment. 
Groves of myrtle and golden fruitage reflected in the glassy 
water, form terraces of green upon perpendicular strata. Como 
city seems sunk to the lake's level, in its setting of emerald, 
while out of the tower of the city there merrily rings the chime. 
By rowing, we reach a point, from which is visible the extreme 
of a perspective of hill after hill, dotted with shrines of wondrous 
charm, erratic granite blocks, (who knows whence they came ?) 
and white villas. Houses cut in the solid rock appear high and 
aloof from the habitations of men. Truly, the genius of Bulwer 
was choice and rare, to a sense of deliciousness, when he made 
Claude Melnotte paint in fancy for the proud Pauline, the 
" Lady of Lyons," his palace of alabaster, and groves of myrtle 
amid these hills and this lake of Como ! 

Our ride to Como had been through a branch of the same 
picture gallery, of which Monza, the ancient capital of Lombardy, 
was the chief view, and where are the relics of Queen Theolinda 
and the Lombard crown of iron once worn by Charles V., and 
placed by no priestly hand on the brow of Napoleon. 

A showery rain followed us across to Maggiore ; but it only 
served to spread a transparent mist, like the veil we saw over 
the face of a marble nun in Rome, adorning a beauty it could 
not conceal. 

We slept upon the shore of Maggiore at the base of a high 
dark mountain, unconscious until we were upon the lake, of its 
lofty presence. Levano was the town to which we were bound. 
Before we reached it, the jagged rocks, indicating our proximity 
to the Alps, gloomed terrifically black, as if about to bo thunder- 



284 LOME ARDY— THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 

riven. Far above them a cloud hixiig its white linings to the 
eye, which curled and smoked as if out of the black mountain, 
like a furnace of Inferno. I had never befoi-e seen such sub- 
limity of gloom and wildness. If these are but the shadows of 
the Alpine feet, what is the lofty head 1 

We are leaving the Paradise of Italy and entering the rough 
and broken land of Switzerland. The pass toward the Simplon 
was clear, an index, said our boatmen, of good weather. Lakes 
of white clouds wave between great mountain heights. Although 
we cannot see distinctly the lofty genii who guard the Simplon, 
yet we have before us still the magic of Beauty. The Borromean 
isles, owned by the Count Borromea, float in the crystal of Mag- 
giore. Compelled to leave Milan with other noble families, on 
account of the lievolution of 1848, when he hoped to unite Italy 
in one grand union under Charles Albert, he has sought refuge 
in his Bella Isola. This isle looks out of the Piedmont into 
the Austrian line, near the shore, where an Austrian steamboat 
with three soldiers marks the extremity of her Italian power. 

We persuaded our boatmen to make a deflection from the di- 
rect line, so as to run around these isles. The first one is a 
bower of trees, a quarter of a mile through ; birds sing in it; an 
ivy-clad house appears, then a vista, showing a fine residence be- 
yond. Flowers adorn the rocks which run up in strata, at an 
angle of 45 degrees from the clear water. But there is no one 
stirring at this early hour. Bella next appears, and well deserv- 
ing the name. As we approach, a large white palace appears on 
the right, while on the left we pass a yellow octagonal tower, 
whose counterpart is on the other side. Between them rises 
a pyramid of green terraces, decked with urns of fiowers, and 
surrounded with hundreds of figures of man and horse. Stone 
railings protect the rocky barriers of the isle. Arched grottoes, 
with every variety of tropical flowers and fruits growing in them, 
appear, and fill the air with a delicious aroma. Ten terraces 
there are, placed upon the slaty rock, warmed beneath by 
fires in winter, to protect these tropical flowers from the frost, 



LOMBARD r,— THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD. 285 

which even in summer glistens from the tops of the mountains 
beyond. Magnolias in full bloom find sweet multiplication in 
the wave over which they hang. The soil upon which these rare 
flowers grow, is renewed every year by fresh imports from Italy. 
At the extreme end of the isle, there live about two hundred 
people, whose residences add nothing to the romance of the spot. 

We pass the Fisher's isle, out of which the chapel bell 
sounds ; in ft-ont is the mount whose sides have been wounded 
to build St. Paul's at Eome. The Ticino river empties the 
lake into the Mediterranean, with its freight of marble. The 
water of the lake is a clear green, answering to the emerald hills. 
The clouds part as we approach the shore, disclosing dark 
masses of mother Earth, like Mahomet's coffin suspended in mid 
air. The mist comes down on the bosom of the lake, as we land. 
Happily we have seen its beauties, and escaped its unpleasant- 
ness. 

Under shadows of dark mountains, leading gradually up to 
the Alps from Italy ; along immense quarries of marble ; across 
torrents whose madness has torn away the bridges of the Sim- 
plon road ; yet ever tending upward, we reach and rest at 
Domo d'Ossolo — the villa at the foot of the Simplon. 

How gradually have we passed from the soft loveliness of 
Lombardy to the grandeur of Maggiore, and now to the rugged 
sublimity of the Alps. Doth not Nature, in these scenes of 
beauty and grandeur, speak warmly and closely to the heart of 
man? Doth she not " astonish him with her magnitude, appall 
him with her darkness, cheer him with her splendor and soothe 
him with her harmony ?" God gave us faculties to enjoy these 
His mountains and flowers, torrents and tendrils, fields of verdure 
and of snow, lakes of crystal surrounding emerald and rocky 
islands. Let the heart, then, bound upward to His, as it swells 
in emotion at each passing glory ! 

If you will look with me at the raised globe I told you of 
in the Exhibition, you will observe a general elevation in the 
north of Italy, indented by torrent beds and peaked with snow 



28G LOMBARDY — THE GARDEN OF THE WORLD 

points. Upon Lake Maggiore there frowns a ridge of mountains, 
stretching from St. Gothard, in the south-east of Switzerland, 
following the Rhone to the Simplon, bending at Mount Rosa, 
(what a hinge is Rosa !) to run due west where Mount Cervin 
frowns — St. Bernard opens, and Blanc — " every inch a king " 
— rules ever with his superior crown of snow, upon his sunless 
throne of rocks. The Maritime Alps, under the command of 
Mount Cenis — a brave subject of Blanc — turn south-westward, 
and march toward France, where we saw their white plumes 
and rough spears, as we journeyed to Marseilles : and then nearly 
right about, down the coast of Italy, where they meet with a 
heavy fire from Vesuvius and Etna ; tearing them asunder at 
the Straits of Messina, which thus ends their career. 

But we have now to do with but one of the great gaps which 
sportive nature has made in the chain — the Simplon — which we 
reserve for another chapter. 



XXII. 



Crnsstng tjiB ^\p. 



"In the mountains lie dotli./ferf his faith, 
All things responsive to the writing there 

Breathed immortality . 

There littleness is not The least of things 
Seemed Infinite." . 

Wbrdsicorth. 

FROM the highly cultivated and sun-warmed plains of Italy 
to these Alpine peaks, snow-covered and wind-beaten, what 
a change ? — How sudden ! Can it be real ? Yes ; for the 
sough of the wind around this old stone auberge, and the chilly 
air without, are palpable proofs even on this 18th of July, that 
we are upon the summit of the Simplon, where winter lives 
under the open sky. Besides, — 

"Small, busy flames play throiigli the fresh laid coals, 
And their foint crackling o'er our silence creeps 
Like whispers of the household gods 

Two days ago and these fiery appendages would have been 
as superfluous as painting the lily, smoothing ice, or describing 
to one who had seen and felt them, the scenery and sensations 
which have followed our pathway up — up — some seven thousand 
feet above ordinary humanity and the sea-level. So much has 
been written of these passes through the Alps ; so much that 
speaks to the eye, to the ear, to all the senses ; so much has 
been told in every variety of style, by every variety of person, 
that I despair of uttering any thing that can convey, even par- 
tially, an adequate idea of their sublimities. 



288 CROSSING THE ALPS. 

These Alpine scenes are not to be lightly passed. The 
impression they produce is not a theme for flimsy rapture or 
minute analysis. They seem born of the Great God, and 
within their august temples His presence becomes omnipotence, 
and His worship holy and awful ! 

The Simplon road is named after the snow-topped mount 
just above our hospice. It is the crowning peak of the pass. 
Over the j^ass the road is forty-five miles. It took six years to 
complete it, although 30,000 men were at work. It has 611 
bridges, in addition to miles of solid masonry. It is twenty-flve 
or thirty feet wide. The road was built by Bonaparte, and is 
one among the many monuraents, other than warlike, by which 
his name will be heralded to posterity. The road begins prop- 
erly at Milan and ends at Geneva. It is magnificent in its 
construction, and stupendous in its triumphs over the rugged- 
ness and sinuosity of nature in her wildest and loftiest freaks. 
Where does not this road wind and venture ? Over what fear- 
inspiring chasms ; between what deep and terrific gorges ; along 
what jutting and blackened granite, ever winding up through 
clouds, through cascades, among flowery meadows, along pine 
forests, until surmounting the jagged difiiculties of the way, it 
leaves vegetation, yea, even the hardy lichen below, and descends 
with marble pathway, ever guarded at intervals with granite 
posts, into the valley of the Rhone ! 

Leaving behind us the lovely beauty of Lake Como ; and 
the grandeur of her queenly sister Maggiore, we hurry by post 
to Domo D'Ossolo, the prominent place at the foot of the Sim- 
plon. Before reaching it, we had to cross by ferry, several wild 
torrents, where bridges had once been. Upon one of these 
ferries, there was a beautiful specimen of a chanticleer, with tiny 
bells in his gills and his comb ; who, before we reached the 
opposite shore, rung his bells, crowed joyously, flapped his wings, 
and cleared the space between boat and shore. Perhaps that 
was his custom. I did not inquire. Our courier, Dominichino, 
was here at home, and rattled off his native Piedmontese idiom. 



CMOSSING THE ALPS. 289 

with as much satisfaction to the host and postillions as to himself. 
The Piedmoutese dislike the Austrians exceedingly, and take 
every occasion to show their contempt. Our rej^ublican courier 
was not behind in the national aversion. His passport arranged 
for Geneva, we began the ascent. 

The vale of Domo D'Ossolo was soon spread out beneath, in 
its verdurous luxuriance, with mulberries and myrtles, figs and 
trellised vines, interspersed with lovely lawns. Suddenly we 
pass a bridge, and behold ! in a hollow and awful abyss below, 
the torrent thundering in white spray over rocks — deep down in 
the creviced mountain ! — Far up and around we again overlook 
the chasm and bridge. We turn to bid farewell to Italy, before 
we trace to its mountain source this Alpine torrent. By it, we 
are enabled to surmount the fastnesses ; for its waters have torn 
out this Simplon pass. The bells of the city, ringing clearly, 
echoed from mountain to mountain, silverly, sweetly undulating 
in rare music, until they fill the ear with harmony. Blending 
the meanwhile therewith, was the angry undertone of the tor- 
rent Douvernia, making its way insanely and violently into its 
bolder-strewn bed of the vale ; while far up and on every side, 
the slopes and perpendicular sides were vivacious with cascades 
fretting and shining, but ever singing. We have had rain for 
several days, so that the mountains all the way up hither were 
voiceful and nimble with fleecy waterfalls and bouncing cataracts. 
Out of cloud and out of chasm, skipping in gleeful bound, dash- 
ing into worn holes, and leaping upward in recoiling grace, to 
fall4)ack hundreds of feet — sliding from mountain summit adown 
smooth marble paths, making thus exquisite lace-work, many- 
figured, wide and flowing, and white as milk, clear as air and 
musical as flutes — these fountain spirits seem to give life and 
activity to the massive, immovable, shattered, blackened, heaven- 
reaching, thunder-riven Alps. We were regretting, during our 
way from Como, that the rain cloud was constantly over us ; 
but after the sun had chased it away this morning, and we found 
its result in such entrancing and soul-like sounds, 



290 CROSSING THE ALPS. 

'So sAVeet we know not we are listening to them, 

the regret was absorbed In the pervading joyousne.ss and har- 
mony. 

I have been thus particuh^r in my mention of these fountains 
and cascades, because they are so life-like. They peopled the 
solitudes. They laughed and glittered as they hung to the 
beetling crags, .and sung in harmony with the greater torrent, 
along whose bewildering way we have been winding for so many 
hours. 

To be sure, houses and people have not been wanting. Hon- 
est-looking masons were repairing the road ; women with pro- 
tuberances from their necks plainly telling of the goitre, — 
beggar-boys with no hands, — Piedraontese soldiers demanding 
passports, — postillions in glazed hats with silver band, in red- 
collared coats with bobby tails to them, — peasant girls washing 
clothes in the torrent, and now and then, a white-dressed chamois 
hunter, looking like a speck of snow against the sides of the 
cliflfs, and firing away at Alpine venison in embryo, with what 
success we could not see, — these were the living people whom 
we met and saw. Farther down, the peasants were gathering 
in the golden grain from the pleasant vales between the frowning 
mounts ; and farther up, they were discernible, clipping the 
harvest of grass even upon apparently inaccessible rocks, and 
attending the cattle. But Nature, not man and his puny works, 
is the great object of our view. How insignificant look the 
habitations of men here. Pigeon-boxes they seem, far up the 
perilous slopes. Nay, what are the grandest exhibitions of 
human art compared to that immense mountain which we passed 
just before we entered the first Gallery. Saint Sophia, the 
Duomo of Milan, St. Mark's, Notre Dame, St. Peter's — how 
minute, atomic, delicate, are ye all, compared to that one 
"moveless pillar of a mountain's weight." Cathedrals may be 
sliced off from its sides, temples taken from its tops ; but its 
majestic dhpropnrt innate prnportio)!?,. many-shaped minarets 



CROSSING THE ALPS. 291 

and domes, its coliseums and temples, its every'-shaped struc- 
tures peaking heavenward, still remain — the same for ever. 

The mountain stream, whose valley forms the important 
Simplon, destroyed eight miles of the road in 1839. Every 
bridge of stone was swept away. Avalanches of stones, some 
huge enough to form islands, upon many of which are now cul- 
tivated gardens, and into many of which men have carved habi- 
tations, line the bed of the stream. They are scoured white 
and neat by the crystal cold water. Snow-drifts, under which 
arches are made by the torrents, lie in the bed of the stream, 
unmelted, and rivalling the frisky cascades in their pallid hue. 
Galleries are made at points along the road, under which we 
pass to emerge upon fearful heights above the stream, under 
other imminent craggy heights, jutting far over our heads. 

The gallery of Gondo, and its surrounding scenery, I would 
select as a specimen of the majesty, terror, beauty, vivacity, 
awfulness, sublimity and glory of this celebrated pass. Artists 
have painted it upon the canvas, engineers have discussed it in 
mathematical equations, poets have sung of its manifold scenes 
and their correspondent emotions. Dare I intrude my vagrant 
pen in such goodly company ? Just from the sublime spectacle, 
with the noise of its cascades still murmuring in my ear, and 
the glisten of its sun-bright snows yet dazzling the eye, my 
description may have the merit of freshness, if not any wonder- 
ful fidelity to the ineffable original. • 

The Gorge of Gondo is some fifteen miles from Domo D'Os- 
solo, just above a miserable village of the name of Gondo. The 
torrent Douveria furnishes a narrow but artificial bank for the 
road, which, winding under the smooth and almost treeless sides 
of the mountain, enters the gallery. The cut is 596 feet through 
the solid granite mountain. The granite was so hard, and the 
access so difiicult, that it required the incessant labor of more 
than one hundred men, in gangs of eight, relieving each other, 
day and night, to pierce it through in eighteen months ! And 
those side-galleries, looking out upon the deep-seething " hell of 



292 CIWSSIXG THE ALPS. 

•waters." far, deeply far, below — how think ye they were cut? 
The miners were suspended from the summit of the mountain 
by ropes, until they carved out a standing-place, when, simulta- 
neously with the other miners, they formed these everlasting 
windows over the gorge. Opposite one of the windows can be 
read the inscription that tells of the energy which set this im- 
mense work in operation — " ^re Italo 1805 : Nap. Imp." 

Close to this yawning cavern, on the right, there leaps out 
of a fissure which splits the mountain, and in which huge rocks, 
shattered and dark, lie in careless sublimity, the torrent of Fras- 
cinnone ; less loud and hoarse in its brawling than the noisy 
Douveria, into which it empties, after splashing, spraying and 
fighting under us. hundreds of feet below the slender bridge 
leading into the gallery. The Douveria itself, across which one 
may leap at this point, is pressed into a narrow bed by the per- 
pendicular rocks. It boils in mad, pallid fury, at its stony 
imprisonment ; and at last bounds upward, and dashing into a 
cavern it has made, finds further vent in indignant eloquence, 
amidst a gigantic auditory of boulders, who line its current and 
cheer its impetuosity. The twin snow-peaks beyond and above 
the gallery, seen between the perpendicular walls, seem to sleep 
in quiet majesty, unmoved and frigid spectators of the scene. 
No wonder they are unmoved, for they are at least five thousand 
feet above the angry roar of the blended cataracts. The savage, 
grim horror which liristles up in the deep gloom of the abyss, is 
only equalled by the precipitous slate walls which, as high up as 
the eye can see, overhang the road. The torrent is squeezed 
into the narrow chasm, — the road into the narrow gorge, which 
seeks the gallery in relief' Scarcely any vegetation, not even 
the pine, clings to the sides. A little grass here and there peeps 
out of a crevice. The black figures on the rock are written over 
by millions of white specks, and imagination could easily find 
forms grotesque to image forth these gigantic drawings. Shat- 
tered fragments, loosened from the mountains, are piled all 
along, where a foothold may be had. The blue sky, with a 



CIWS.'iLYG TUB ALPS. -293 

fleecy cloud floating partly over it, like a flag from the peak, is 
seen up through the gorge. The old road, which ouce passed 
here on the other side, is barely discernible by the terraced 
stones lining the almost perpendicular side. It iswholl}^ covered 
now. Amid this roar of waters, and this immensity, solitude, 
ban-enness, and immovableness of granite masses, the little 
arched bridge for the road still spans the gorge ; and there still 
winds upward the Simplou, with its marble way. The work of 
Man thus arises superior to the elements in their most terrific 
form. Yet these masses produce a stronger impression on the 
mind, than Man, with his infinitude of comprehension ! In the 
whirl and buzz, the tinsel and superficialities of life, we forget 
that Man is a nobler substance than the mountains, and moi'c 
eternal even than they ! Their eternity is but the fiction of the 
brain ; the eternity of the soul is a truth of Grod ! Yet, in these 
mountains, one may best learn this truth ; and, learning, ascend 
in view of its snow-white radiance, " seeking ever a higher 
object." Here best is taught that reverence which the Holy 
Word demands, and which Wordsworth, in the verses prefixed 
to this chapter, so feelingly embodies. 

I could not refi-ain from repeating the solemn significance of 
the Bard of llydal Mount, who was himself accustomed, like 
the eagle, to leave the impurpled hills of his own Cumberland, 
and among the mountains renew at evening his proud communi- 
cation with the sun. I could not refrain, when gathering the 
little Alpine flowers, so beautifully delicate in petal and exquisite 
in aroma, so nicely stemmed and richly tinted — from pondering 
how these least of things seemed infinite. Nay, it is not mere 
poetry. Take your microscope and examine that world of germ 
and flower which, analogous to the out-budding constellations, is 
obeying the eternal order of growth ; — and say, is there not an 
infinity in the tender petal of blue, bedropt with gold and specked 
with a love-light, growing under the mountain's shade ? Come 
home to severe science, and you may learn, that the slightest 
alteration in the force of gravity which pervades the universe, 



294 CIWSSLXG THE ALPS. 

would aUer the 2Ws'Uion of tliat blue Aljnne Jloivcr^ peeping be- 
tween its rock-ribbed home up to its kindred azure. An earth, 
greater or smaller, denser or rarer in the least, would require a 
change in the structure and strength of the stalks of every flower. 
There is something curious in considering the whole mass of the 
earth from pole to pole, from the centre to the circumference, as 
employed in keeping that blue flower bedrojit with gold in its 
wild position, and the one most suitable to its vegetable health. 
If science thus demonstrates the infinitude of the relations of 
these tiny flowers, is there not a deep significance in the poetry 
of Wordsworth, that " littleness is not, the least of things seems 
infinite?" The highest poetry and the severest science will ever 
harmonize. Induction can never exhaust Castalia's fountain. 
Bacon was akin to Calliope, and Newton enjoyed her deepest 
confidence. Whewell and Wordsworth both agree, that in the 
humblest flower of the vale there is an infinity reposing as se- 
renely as in the evolving nebulae of the creation's bound ! How I 
love, with such thoughts, to gather these little azure infinities. 
The meadows along the gushing streams are covered by them. 
They modestly peep up, almost with a shiver at the Lapland 
tops of the mountains. They seem like a dream of spring smil- 
ing around the icy features of winter. They contest the palm 
of beauty with the sliding and spraying cascades, which sporting 
around the chamois' home and eagle's nest, leap fearless out of 
cloud-land upon rock-land. But did the latter lose their vivacious 
loveliness, or the former their tender beauty, because of their 
frequent occurrence in our upward path ? Ask the bird of song 
if her throat loses its sweetness upon that fair}" isle of Maggiore, 
we passed yesterday, although her song is ever the same ? Ask 
the cloud which reflects the dyes of evening over the Morea, if 
its glory is lost in the soul, because the same glow is continually 
around about us in splendid sun-settings ? 

We walk most of the way up, gathering strawberries as we 
walk. The cold air rushes down the valley as we near the hos- 
pice. Winter rules here. Hearken ! how the wind howls, and 



CJiO>'SSiyG THE ALPS. 295 

the windows rattle ! Seven thousand feet up in the earth's at- 
mosphere, and yet so many other peaks above us ! Why, I 
ahuost tremble for our earth's orbit. In wheeling around upon 
its soft axle, our pensile orb is in danger, with such tall pi-otube- 
rances into the sky. Thank Heaven ! There arc Andes, Him- 
malehs and Alleghanies to balance the wheels, and make our 
earth dance to the tune of gravity, after the most precise method. 

Ah ! it was good to get to the Inn. It was better to feel the 
cheer of the fire. It was best to tickle the eager palate with 
mountain trout and chamois venison. The earth earthy will at 
times predominate. Cascades and lofty peaks were obliterated 
for a time, to play and pinnacle again in this poor page. All 
alone I sit at my table. My companions are recruiting them- 
selves by sleep for the morrow, when we shall run down in three 
hours to Leuk, thence to Martigny and the Blanc. Seven hours 
is occupied in the ascent to this half-way spot. 

The stars glisten in the windy air so fitfully bright ; so 
cold yet lustrous. Never was I so near them before ; never 
perhaps shall I be so near again ; yet with all the sublimity of 
these mountains, the rolling clusters of constellations eclipse 
them all, even as Mont Blanc eclipses an Indian mound of our 
own valley. The bell of a convent near sounds wildly strange 
at this hour upon this height. Tlie ghostly white mountains 
above gleam fearfully. A strange snudder comes over me, at 
the awful immensity of barrenness around. Truly has Byron 
written of these palaces of nature, pinnacled in clouds, throning 
eternity in their icy halls, and speeding on their mission of 
destruction the thunderbolt of snow : — 

" All that expands the spirit, yet appall?, 
Gather around their summits as to show, 
How Earth may soar to Heaven, yet leave vain man below." 

How bracing is this upper air. Five hours of rest here is 
equivalent to ten in southern Italy. Midnight closed my last 
paragraph on the summit of the Simplon. x\ few hours of sleep. 



296 CROSSING THE ALPS. 

and we started ou foot, ahead of tlie diligence, over the regions 
of uninhabited desolation. It seemed as if a great lake had 
once been upon this mountain, whose sides yet loom up in rug- 
ged grandeur. We passed the old and new Hospices erected 
for the safety of travellers — bid the monks " bon jour," bought 
movintain agates from the younkers on the mount, were over- 
taken by the rumbling vehicle, and at the word " monte !" we are 
in the coupe, rattling down the precipitous descent, overlooking 
valleys where the distant kine jingle their bells, and where the 
little chalfits are espied in the profound distance ; and rushing 
through galleries of safety, serving at once as a bridge for water- 
falls which roar over and under us and then plunge sheer into 
the air, and at the same time as a guard from the avalanches, 
whose scarring tracks are deeply trenched in the mountain sides. 
These galleries are cut in the solid rock, but drip with water or 
glitter with icicles like a grotto with stalactites. The pines are 
perpetually appearing wherever a moss fibre can crawl ; and flow- 
ers — but I have said enough of them. Nature repeats her glo- 
ries, but in every place how differently. At Boresa, where we 
stopped, the carol of the bird began to announce the vernal re- 
gion. The outside, or rather the top of the diligence became 
my seat, as we ran down into the valley of the Rhone. It was 
a fearful seat at first. There were so many and such short 
curves, shaped like the letter S in the road, that at times I seem- 
ed about to be dashed with the diligence over precipices 2000 feet 
below, where torrents roared and rocks bristled. Around ever}' 
point the downward serpentine of the road wound, cut out of the 
sides of the mountain, and absolutely suspended in the air. 
But what cared the driver for these glorious scenes or dangerous 
abysses ? Halloo on, old glazed cap ! " Hee ! Hee ! Yce-youp ! 
Brabone ! " — and snap ! would go the lash at the lazy leader ! 
For miles we wended downward, almost encircling Mount Eglise, 
whose five-and-tweuty peaks, all joined in one Gothic spire, 
towered above the great snow-fields around, and pierced, as with 
a wedge, a dense cloud which seemed enamored of its untrod- 
den pinnacles. 



CROSSING THE ALPS. 297 

The vale of Brieg will long be remembered for its variety of 
rural beauty. It receives us as we run down the mountains. A 
magnificent vale it is, extending down the Simplon side of the 
mountains across the Rhone, whose whitish green waters rush 
over a bed enamelled with clean boulders, as far as the eye 
can see, and midway up the Bernese Alps. The drive down its 
valley was one of our finest. The way was a duplicate of sub- 
limity — Vallais frowning vijion one side with her angry moun- 
tain brows, glistening with Rosa and Moro ; while Berne looked 
out gloomily from the Gremmi gorge at Leuk, so famous for its 
baths, and the immense perpendicularity of its mountain scenery. 

Sion we reached before sunset. Its feudal towers rising be- 
fore the city, revived the stories of barons bold and ladies fair ; 
while in the city we found the warlike people crowding around a 
case of assault and battery, with two soldiers holding a man 
with a bloody nose, whom two loud-talking Siouians were pum- 
melling under the soldiers' eyes. The shadow of the rural 
mountains kissed midway in the valley at sundown, and unitedly 
followed us into Martiguy. 

The fields along this part of the valley are mostly worked by 
women, coarse, robust, and gawky. Nearly every peasant woman 
has the swelling at the throat, known as the goitre, so often re- 
ferred to by travellers. It is the same disgusting execrcscence 
which Juvenal refers to in the line — 

" Quis tumidiiin guttur miratur in Alpibus." 

The swelling is of the thyroid gland or the parts adjoining, 
which grows with the growth of the person, until, as in some 
cases, which we saw, it becomes a huge bag, covering the 
breast, and rendering the person unable to walk under the bur- 
den. Various discussions as to its cause, have not as yet re- 
sulted in a remedy for the effect. Tlie best sense of the medi- 
cal profession has settled down upon the idea, that it is caused 
by a sort of malaria, owing to the confined air of the valleys, in 
the marshy places. Bad as it is, the women seem to care little 
13* 



298 CROSSING THE ALPS. 

for it. It is not nearly so disgusting as cretinism, which, from 
similar causes, prostrates the mind and deforms the body. How 
sad, that in such sublime and wonderful scenery, where physical 
Nature displays her utmost magnificence, poor human nature 
should be degraded and ruined by such a mysterious dispensa- 
tion. Thank God for our Qwn Ohio plains and undulations ! 
where, if the ague does sometimes abound, it does not deform 
the body and shatter the mind ! — But one can hardly wonder 
either at the dispensation, when it is considered to what a 
height these barriers rise above the low valleys. Disease will 
creep in, where the pure air of heaven cannot enter. Why ! in 
one of the cantons near the Lauterbriinnen, which we passed, there 
lived, unknown by all their neighbors, a tribe of the most primi- 
tive heathens, until the twelfth century, when they were dis- 
covered by some daring cragsman, and converted to Christianity 
by the good Bishop of Constance ! Could there be found a 
stronger illustration of the depths of these valleys, into and out of 
which even human curiosity failed to find its way ? 



XXIII 

(^'jjrniigli tlje ^tf Mm k Mmi 361nnr. 

'•Mont Blanc is the monarch of uiountaius, 
They crowned him long ago, 
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 
"Vyith his diadem of snow." 

BijroHS ManfreO.. 

SUNDAY moniing we awoke in Murtiguy. The chimes uear 
our windows were playing — I verily believe — a waltz. It 
sounded so spirited and jocund. We are in the Catholic canton 
of Vallais. and of course every body goes to church. The women 
in tidy little hats surrounded with a broad silvered ribbon, and 
with prayer-book modestly folded in white handkerchief; with 
their high waists — but I am encroaching upon forbidden ground ! 
It is enough, that their " bon jour, monsieur"' — every where given 
smilingly and sweetly, to say nothing of their Sunday best 
attire — won our admiration. The smallest urchin made his 
obeisance to the stranger, and the oldest inhabitant removed his 
hat and bent his silvered head in res23ectful salutation. How 
pleasant to meet these kind-hearted Republicans. God bless 
these descendants of Tell ! The English, esjjecially Murray, in 
his guide-book, have maligned the Swiss, most infamously. 
There is more true manhood and breeding in these simple-heart- 
ed people, than could be expressed out of all England, if she lay 
under the Alps for a century. Go to ! Roast beef, go to ! 
Hurrah for your Queen and spend your gold ; but let unosten- 
tatious simplicity live unlibelled in its happy valley. 

A novel mode of travel awaited us at Martigny. Mont 
Blanc must be seen from Chamouni. and the Tetc Noir must be 



300 THROUGH THE TETE NOIR 

passed. Twenty miles inaccessible to the carriage, and traver- 
sible only by the mule, or upon foot, must be overcome. Our 
ladies are ready upon the sure-footed animals, and one mule is 
reserved for three of the other sex, wherewith to ride and tie. 
A Sabbath day's journey to the greatest temple in the universe, 
with Coleridge's hymn for our melody, and the roaring torrents 
for our diapason ; who so Puritanic as to object to such an ex- 
cursion? Well, we have a goodly calvacade up the mountain. 
Thirteen mules besides our own join us, and on we go, only 
stopping at the cool fountain or to fill our basket with straw- 
berries. The way up was among pleasant apple orchards, and 
harvest fields. We had no dangers to encounter, or gorges to 
tremble at ; until we turned abruptly into the Tete Noir, or 
Black Head ! Our mules then began to measure their steps 
cautiously, though they were evidently so familiar with the path 
as not to " snort suspicion." 

The passes in the Alps have their grades of sublimity, terror, 
and beauty. The Simplon combines, in the greatest degree, all 
these qvialities. The Splugen and the Gemmi have more of ter- 
ror. The Tete Noir is deservedly celebrated, as well for its 
wildness, as for being the path to Mont Blanc. Within its 
savage gorges, the torrent thunders as if from lowest depths 
opening to devour. Dr. Cheever considered it a concentration, 
though somewhat in miniature, of the grand features of the Sim- 
plon, but at the same time rich and beautiful beyond description. 
I could not do better than to compress its scenery into the pic- 
ture which he furnishes. " Abrupt precipices frowning at each 
other across the way like black thunder clouds, about to meet ; 
enormous crags overhanging you so far, that you tremble to pass 
under them ; savage cliffs looking down upon you, and watching 
you on the other side, as if waiting to see the mountain fall 
upon you ; a torrent thundering beneath you, masses of the 
richest verdure flung in wild drapery over the gorge ; galleries 
hewn in the rock, by which you pass the angular perpendicular 
cliffs, as in rocky hammocks swung in air ; villages suspended 



TO MOyr BLANC. 301 

above you, and looking sometimes as if floating in the clouds • 
snowy mountain ridges far above these ; musters of chalets al- 
most as far below you, with the tinkling of bells, the hum of 
voices, and the war of the torrent, fitfully sweeping up to you on 
the wind ; these are the combinations presented you in the Tete 
Noir." The picture is not exaggerated, nor unfaithful, save that 
we found but one gallery in the pass. 

After passing a rude cross erected upon a fearful part of the 
road, to commemorate a young German who lost his life there 
in a storm by the falling of a pine, you perceive the " head," black 
and bushy with pines, rising out of the brown, twisted, craggy 
rocks. Turning toward Chamouni, and looking across the vale, 
not fiir from the Auberge, there appears a mount, less perpen- 
dicular, but higher than the " Tete," and a valley deeper ! I 
counted seven silver cascades playing from its top, separating 
and uniting, bursting into spray, and floating in the air, then 
joining in a torrent. I could liken the scene to none other than 
a parliament or a congress of cascades, whose speeches were all 
to one point — the glory of the pass. One like an oily-tongued 
persuader, glides smoothly down the rock without splash or 
spray, and gains his end jvist as surely as the showy declaimer 
who raves and stamps, and tears a passion to tatters. Another 
spreads out his oratory in fine thi-eads, every interruption fret- 
ting him into new points of grace and beauty, but uniting at the 
base in a torrent full and free, while his cogent neighbor, with 
continuity and unbrokenness of column, falls with all his force 
in one master apothegm upon the thread of his theme ; and so 
they speak from their lofty tribune, illustrating their eloquence 
with flowers of sweetness, and rocks of truth. A villa of an 
hundred chalets listens demurely to their debate, and the torrent 
below unanimously carries the question down the vale with a 
glad shout of triumph. Well, metaphor will run mad in such a 
scene ; so do not criticise my consistency. I wrote it on the 
spot, and give it as I wrote ; interrupted now and then by the 
rapture of a lady-companion, who was filling her basket with 



302 Til Ro vail THE TETK ^oli: 

flowers, and the shout of a gentleman, who had found high up in 
the rocks a Chamois #fest (?) made of moss. 

But why wreak one's thoughts upon expression, where there 
is so much to paint, and where words are not mountains, nor 
cascades, nor even the pictures of them ? The monster back of 
that rock, breaking the vale in twain, but smiling in its shaggy 
grandeur with gardens along its sides, and lashed everlastingly 
by a torrent, at which it also smiles — where is the palette of wordy 
colors to paint that ? Soon, through a perspective of snowy 
mounts, Mont Blanc, monarch of them all, lifts on high his 
blanched head. The view at first disappointed me. We were 
ourselves so high, that his 16,000 feet dwindled to half of that. 
The azure sky was unclouded, and the vast Gothic granite 
needles that pierce it around the monarch, were well defined and 
sharp. Far ahead of our party, I ran down through the Rouge 
and Verd mounts, leaving the Col do Balme behind — down — 
down — doion — down — past cattle feeding in the shadows which 
were creeping up the mountains on the east, and at last into the 
vale of Chamouni, with its lofty line of sublimities on either 
side. I knew the Arve — the bold brawler from the clouds and 
ice peaks, born amid thunder and storm, hastening by the 
humble cots from steep to steep, 

"Till mingling with the mighty Rhone 
It rests beneath Geneva's walla." 

The Mer de Glace, and its outlet, the Glacier de Bois, hung 
over the vale under the everlasting pinnacles, threatening in 
aspect, while out of its hollow ice halls, rolled the " five wild 
torrents fiercely glad," which join to form the Aveiron. The 
vale lies north and south. The evening sun has left the valley, 
but lingers in a faint pink upon the great ice and snow fields of 
the monarch's head. The village of Chamouni, a pretty place 
enough, seems but a handful in these immensities of matter. 
Long after the shadows of night hung darkling over its roofs, 
the white light played on the top of the mountains. Perpetual 



TO MO:sT BLAXC. 3O3 

layers of etevual whiteness, untrackcd and untainted by mortal 
tread, catch the last, and will gleam with the first light of 
heaven. The mind becomes oppressed with an overpowering 
sense of sublimity. There is the Hierarchy of Nature minister- 
ing between heaven and earth, in long white robes flowing down 
the enormous ravines, with a solemn silence which rebukes the 
noisy torrents at its feet, and the roar of the wavy pines midway 
up its sides. Dread ambassador ! what a ministration between 
the Finite and Infinite is thine ! Pomp of earthly kings ! — how 
puerile and tame is your magnificence ! 

It is only a mighty mind like that of Coleridge, that could 
grasp and give expression to the sjnrit of this vale. I have 
read that he never visited this spot. It cannot be true. His 
hymn is the true worship of his lofty soul, uplifted through 
tears into this sviblimc serenity. 

Raptures and exclamations are impotent and tame ; the only 
style which befits the solemn significance of the scene at Cha- 
mouni, is that of the prophet who, wrapped in his mantle, bowed 
to the ' still small voice' in awe. 

As I write now, the peaks and falls, glaciers and gorges, 
which surround me, have become familiar in name and position; 
but the spirit of the scene who can exhaust ? Who can analyze 
its glories? Other travellers have essayed to do it as well be- 
neath its shadow as upon the distant points of view. It is only 
to be felt by being seen. As I gazed upon it, while the day was 
departing, the lofty wish of the poet, seemed full of new mean- 
ing, when he prayed that he might grow more bright from com- 
merce with the sun, at the approach of all involving night. 
And forgetful of the dear ones at home, — remembered ever 
upon all other occasions, — the wish started to the light, that 
here, beneath these hoar, high peaks of God's own majesty, we 
would love to live, and live to love, and at last sleep in the ' all 
involving night' of death, among the blossoms and flowers of 
this lovely vale. 

I would like to take you up one more ascent — the Montan- 



304 THROUGH THE TETE JSOIR. 

vert, which we ascended by mules, and from which the best view 
is to be had of the great granite peaks, and from which you 
may descend upon the Mer de Glace. Two hours and a half 
brought us to the Pavilion — a toilsome, rocky way, but ren- 
dered pleasant by the cool milk and and rich strawberries which 
the bright-eyed girls of the mountain offer us, at different points 
in the ascent. After a rest and a dish of strawbei-ries, we de- 
scended upon the most wonderful phenomena of the Alps, the 
glacier. This glacier is the largest in the world, it being forty- 
five miles long, and in some places three wide. It was over a 
mile wide at the point where we were upon its moving mass. 
Rumble ! crash ! crack ! boom ! went the ice, as a huge granite 
rock in the midst tumbled into the cavernous profound. Hoarse 
and sepulchral, sharp and ear-piercing is the sound. Dare we 
venture upon the living sea, — peaked, hollow, roaring, trickling 
with water, quivering with life, and bursting its icy fetters ? 
Before we venture, let us take one view of the magnificent spec- 
tacle, embosomed beneath in the vale, which is surrounded by 
the mounts and snow-peaks ; pass not slightly over the minute 
beauties which are painted in the jjlain, with their coverlets of 
verdurous squares, triangular harvest-fields of yellow, mingled 
with the freshly plowed ground, lying between the belt of trees 
fringing the Arve and Aveiron, which, like two white ribbons 
inwrought with silver, dart with bright points of flashing, until 
they mingle to rave ceaselessly at the base of Blanc. These 
spots of rural beauty depend upon the melting glacier which 
feeds perpetual streams of irrigation. Do you ask why God 
hath placed the glacier here ? Seek an answer in the well-filled 
granary and happy faces of the peasantry. 



XXIV. 



" He lias seen the hoar 

Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc, both far and near, 
And in Chamouni heard the thunder-hills of fear. 



COULD you elevate your mental telescope sowewhat loftily, 
and turn it liitherward, you would perceive the Author in a 
situation at once extraordinary and peculiar. I do not know, 
but that my position is high enough to obviate the intervention 
of the ' thick rotundity ' of the world, and the considerable dis- 
tance between Ohio and Chamouni. I sit upon a granite boulder, 
in a sea of ice, called the Mer de Glace. My prospect in front 
is the great cathedral pinnacle of Dru ; the point of Verdi, 
the highest of the needles, is in the rear ; that of Bouchard is 
on the left, and on the right is the grand Horach, hid in snow ; 
next to it is Charmoz, partly snow-covered. Tlaese points en- 
viron the glacier-bed with their spiry, rocky, snowy needles, 
rising out of the frigid green sea, jagged, terrific, and sublime ! 
We seize our Alpenstock, shod with iron, and under the lead 
of our excellent guides, who take charge of the ladies, we enter 
upon the icy bed even to its midst, and look down into some of 
the wildest gorges of the glacier, which shine with beautiful 
greenish blue. These gorges are deep and hollow. Within 
them the torrent's voice roars madly. Our guides threw large 
rocks into the chasm, and we stood breathless, listening to the 
reverberations beneath. Great granite rocks are upon the ice- 
bergs, and as the glacier moves, now and then they tumble into 
the gorges with thundering echo. The sound of the torrent 



306 THE ICE-SEA. 

and the progress of the immense mass make the phvce one of 
thrilling interest. Upon the opposite shore, under the peaksj 
there rise green pine forests, out of a sea of frost ; and over- 
head, there float white clouds, like celestial navies sailing from 
point to point in the upper air. Surely this is the perfection of 
wild and gloomy desolation — overpowering and strange as a 
nether and an upper world, united in wild phantasy. 

" What a dear little flower I have found just here upon the 
edge of the glacier ; a little pink moss, or star-flower. Only 
look at it !" — breaks in a musical treble near by. 

" Don't interrupt me, Madame ; I am catching a likeness of 
Desolation himself in his own home V 

No wonder the Avciron roars with such a perpetuity of 
music and continuity of stream, fed by such an interminable 
waste of ever trickling, but never melted ice. No wonder that 
the— 

"Rose d'Alp?" inquires the same treble, upon the brink of 
the ice-sea, where its owner is plucking flowerets of most deli- 
cate hue and form. 

" Oui, Madame," says the good guide ; " il commence a 
fleurir." 

" What's that mean, Dominichino ? What kind of a flower 
does the guide call it ?" 

'• It is not a flower yet, Madame. It's a begging to come 
out." Quite a poetical idea ! 

" Ah ! a bud — yes, yes. How exquisite !" 

See those other immense glaciers, high and away up the sea, 
miles ofi", branching out of the Mer, and each having its own 
great sluices Hark ! far up in their dreary profundities, the 
armies of ice are cannonading with sharp and thundering din ! 

" Come ! come !" They are hallooing to us from above ! 
" Let us go to the Englishman's rock !" 

I cannot resist such persuasiveness ; so picking up my ink 
horn and journal, and wondering how the poor fellow felt who 
fell into one of the icy gulfs and came out below in the torrent, 



THE ICE-SEA. 3O7 

I left, to see the now broken granite rocks, under wliose shelter 
Pococke and Windham, the first English adventurers into this 
valley in 1741, slept; and which has since then been moving 
down the ravine, " sloping amain,'' at the rate of one foot per 
day, sweeping an immense moraine of granite and earth along. 

There is so much of the terrific and the peculiar connected 
with this Alpine phenomenon, that much scientific observation 
has been given to it. The deductions of scientific men are as 
remarkable as they are interesting, in relation to the origin, 
movement, former existence and effect of glaciers. The best 
information I can obtain is the following. It contains the eclec- 
ticism of the subject ; 

The summit of Mont Blanc, when its fused granitic mass 
rose up from the bowels of the earth, was for some time as bare 
as are the wasted peaks of the Aiguilles which surround it. 
The heat gradually subsided, an immense quantity of snow be- 
gan to fall, as it now does, on the elevated rocks and valleys. 
In the highest regions, where rain is unknown, evaporation, pro- 
ceeding from the extreme dryness of the atmosphere, causes 
these flakes to descend in particles somewhat resembling hail, 
whose loose dry grains, heaped on each other, are incoherent and 
form what is termed the neve. A great part of this is swept down 
on the lower stages of the mountain by those impetuous currents 
of air which almost constantly reign at great heights, at other 
times snow containing some portion of moisture is whirled up 
across the summit from the lower and warmer regions ; during 
summer the solar rays, not having yet lost their calorific inten- 
sity by descent through the atmosphere, act with extraordinary 
force, avalanches are detached, and the moisture caused by the 
direct action of the heat on the exterior, as well as that arising 
from clouds which at times envelope the summit, is speedily ab- 
sorbed by the remainder of the porous mass. To this succeeds 
nightly congelation and expansion, so that the neve descending 
gradually from this, combined with other causes, in the same 
manner as the low glacier, forms the reservoir of those vast ice 



308 THE ICE-SEA. 

streams wliicli glide into the upper valleys of the Alps. Suc- 
cessive falls of snow, their thaws and congelations, are therefore 
the vindoubted origin of the first glaciers. 

Their movement is very difi"erently explained. De Saussurc 
attributes it to gravitation, which is improbable, because, if pres- 
sure at ergo were the sole cause, the entire body would slide 
down into the plains with gradually accelerated velocity. De 
Charpentier and Agassiz are partisans of the dilatation theory, 
supposing that daily thaw, constantly succeeded in the whole 
body by night frosts and expansion, causes the forward motion. 
This is refuted by the ascertained fact that congelation does 
not every where and always take place throughout the glacier, 
for the cold, except at its edges and thinner parts, penetrates 
no farther than into the earth when covered by a mantle of 
snow. Nocturnal cold merely suffices to dry up the streamlets 
at the exterior during summer, and the constant wasting of the 
glacier during that season proves that frost does not then ex- 
ercise a dilating effect. While the prolonged winter season 
continues, it of course reaches a greater depth, but if entirely 
dependent on alternate thaw and frost the whole body would 
then freeze hard and not move at all. 

Whoever examines the composition of the glacier will rea- 
dily perceive it to be an eminently fragile body composed of a 
porous and plastic ice, difi"erent from that which forms on the 
surface of lakes and rivers. The manner in which it moulds 
and adapts itself to evei-y bend and corner of a rocky valley 
proves its ductility. It is in short a semi-solid or viscous com- 
position, urged downwards by its own weight and a mutual 
pressure of its coherent parts. The mass is detached from its 
bed of rock by the subtei-ranean heat of the globe, the infiltra- 
tion of rain-water, and of the moisture produced by exterior 
thaw. Being the outlet of the winter world it is fed in the upper 
regions by dilatation of the neve, the descent of avalanches, and 
by snow swept down on it from the summits. 

Thus urged onwards, the daily waste below is replaced by 



THE IVE-SEA. 3O9 

daily descent from above. Crevasses proceed from forcible 
separations caused by inequalities of the rock, its occasional 
swells, or abrupt descents, over which the viscous or half rigid 
mass strains forward. When an obstacle occurs, the glacier 
becomes transversely rent, its lower portion is separated, and 
proceeds, the fissure gradually enlarging, until closed up by pres- 
sure behind or accumulation of ice debris, to form afresh if the 
cause is renewed. Though the identical ice of which they, or 
the deep gully holes often seen on the glacier are composed, may, 
after a lajjse of time, have advanced some hundred feet, the rents 
and fissures will always be found at the same spot like the eddies 
and deep pools in particular parts of a stream. Local confor- 
mations mould the ice ; its centre advances more rapidly than 
the sides which it drags along ; its upper surface more than the 
under one ; the lower end more than the source or reservoir. 
The velocity is checked by cold but augmented by sunshine, 
thaw, or rain. The forward movement, through perpetual night 
and day, is irregular, and much greater in spring than summer, 
in summer than in autumn and vrinter. During the hot season 
the glacier wastes away in all its parts ; dui-ing winter it is ex- 
panded upwards by frost and agglomeration to its former level, 
and, the progress being retarded, all its parts crowd together. 

The abrasion of the diamond and the force of the lever give 
to the glacier an immense power. Hence the stupendous rocks 
found in places where no other agency could have borne them. 
Evidences are numerous in the vale of Chamouni, of this very 
glacier having torn away great portions of the mountain, and 
filled the vale to the height of five hundred feet or more. 
Indeed, when we consider the effect of this silent, slow, but 
resistless messenger from above, the fact that it overthrows or 
surmounts almost every opposition, and that a very slight de- 
pression of the present temperature of the earth would cause its 
increase ad infinitum, we must admit that such a mighty instru- 
ment may prove, in the hands of Providence, an agent more 
destructive of our globe than fire or water, since no effort can 
arrest, no obstacle prevent or divert its awful progress. 



310 THE ICE-SEA. 

Aseending the Pavilion, we may discuss over a little Alp of 
strawberries, blanched with sugar, which quickly disappears under 
the keenness of the appetite — the science of this immense sea, 
more at leisure. While eating, however, I opened the register, 
and found that Montanvert had proved a Parnassus to some 
genius incognitxis.i who poured forth his sentiment right happily 
in the following 

SONG OF THE MER DE GLACE. 

"There ne'er was seen, on earth I ween, 
A fairer sun than shone 
On our Alpine pass of the Mer de Glace 
This fourteenth day of June. 

" Our feet have pressed the snowy crest 
Of these wild waves deep and strange. 
On wliose strength of rock, writes the whirlwind's shock 
Scarce tlie shadow of a change. 

" And the mountains to-day, as they have alway 
Since time began to be. 
With reverend head guard the royal bed 
Of that sleeping silver sea. 

" And while ages fall, they'll tell the tale 
To years — Time's laurels winning, — 
Of ages that sleep in the awful deep 
Beyond the great 'Beginning.'" 

" Truly," says an annotation, " we forgot it was July — 

' Which, remembered in time. 
Would have spoiled the rhyme.' " 

Other bards celebrate their drizzling days in Jeremiads and 
dripping lines, but there was no piece which struck me as worthy 
of a transcript, except the above. 

We descended rapidly the great higlnoay — my mule, like a 
gallant soldier, ever preferring the post of danger, and always 
provokingly hanging his ears over the most awful chasms, and 



THE ICE-SEA. 311 

eating grass just wliere one feared to be toppled headlong into 
the awful gorges. But it is great, to bo high and aloof from the 
world and its vexations. For a lawyer to be 7,000 feet high, it 
is almost Paradise. No judge, jury or sheriff; no special plead- 
ing or demurring (save that of the mule) away up here. Chitty 
has no Precedent for the Dru ; and Tidd, in all his " Practice." 
never drew so complex, yet so simple, a declaration as Mont 
Blanc draws against the serene azure. Never was I so near the 
great high Chancery, where all things are tested by the con- 
science, and not by the letter merely. 

We bade adieu to Mont Blanc on Tuesday, to see his radiant 
face again from St. Martin's bridge, upon the road to Geneva, 
where it was said that one of the finest views could be had of 
him and his chain. St. Martin's is twelve miles from Mont 
Blanc. As you look up the valley of the furious Arve, there 
arises the Mount Foreclaze, covered with pines and pasturage ; 
over these, the needles point around the Mer de Glace, and 
mingling with them, are the snow tops, consisting of great fields, 
which centuries have been piling, and which branch down the 
ravines in moving glaciers. The black pines gloom along the 
twelve mile perspective. It has been raining ; the clouds are 
heavy, and hang around the mounts in variegated and wild 
gloominess. A great terraced point, swelling upward in culti- 
vation, is vipon our right, across the vale, while a stupendous 
castellated temple is upon our left. The birds sing, and the 
Arve roars. The mighty spirit of the spectacle glides along the 
walled ridges, and enters the soul, bedewing it with ' thanks and 
mute ecstasy.' Nature has many thoughts encased within, and 
flowing from, these rocky mounts, to be pondered with profit and 
delight. The reader who has not had the advantage of realizing 
the beauty and immensity of an Alpine scene, should at least 
turn back to our frontispiece, in which the talented artist, Hin- 
shelwood, of New- York, has re-pictured to our memory the 
sublime view of Mont Blanc from St. Martin's bridge. The 
engraving is from a drawing upon the spot, and faithfully fol- 



312 'i'Hii IVE-SEA. 

lows the hand of the great original. With such a pictured 
view, further description would be supererogation. The road to 
Greneva is alive with cascades of every variety of beauty ; and it 
towers up with castellated mountains, into whose hearts large 
grottoes open. The fountain of Palerines, where there is a re 
coil in a parabolic curve of sixty feet, cannot be forgotten. 

We passed, on going around a mountain, the exquisite cas- 
cade of Chede. The first jet is round and full, falling upon a 
rocky terrace, midway, where it divides into two other cascades, 
forming the shape of a heart,, leaving a black rock within its sil- 
ver setting. I cannot convey by language, nor by comparison, 
any adequate idea of the beauty of these cascades. We find 
them leaping like spirits from heaven out of clouds upon ever- 
lasting rocks, and detaining the eye with their grace, and the 
ear with their melody. 

The cascade Nant d' Arpenaz was a joy for ever. Leav- 
ing our char, and bidding our courier and driver await, we 
wended our way over the meadows to its base. I leaped 
from rock to rock, until I sat under its spray, upon a boul- 
der, my feet dangling amid flowers of loveliest blue. If you 
can imagine one of our ordinary Buckeye hills, say two hun- 
dred feet high, suddenly monstered into one of a thousand 
feet ; one side perpendicular, with rocks standing on a horizontal 
basis ; the middle point arching in great curved strata, and the 
other side an immense castellated mountain, which, unlike the 
other mounts, seemed serene amidst the primeval fire which once 
wildly interfused and intertwisted the granite ledges, you may 
have a faint idea of the mountain source of this cascade. All 
along are the results of the elder fires, scathing, melting, tear- 
ing, convulsing the mighty ribs of earth, and pitching them in 
defiance of heaven at its very portal ; but this great castle- 
mount seems rather to have grown, so close and systematic is its 
gigantic masonry. Out of its arched granite heart there bursts a 
volume of whitest water, written full of beauteous characters, 
illuminated with prisms, fleecy as a nun's veil in the air, and 



THE IGE-SEA. 3 13 

buoyed up like powdery snow-flakes ! So long is it in falling, that 
its points shoot out and burst like little rockets or miniature 
comets, with a nucleus and a streamer ; or rather like the whit- 
est steam puffs, curling and evanishing. The column, before it 
falls, bespreads itself wide and thin, but gathers into point be- 
low, where in a torrent it plays among rocks down the distance 
of thirty feet, then leaps in full column into a seething basin of 
hollow profundity, which roars and boils furiously. 

The mind cannot find imagery for so beautiful an object, 
dashing out of so swelling an arch in so wild a spot. One 
likened it to a plume ; another to a white pennon, floating 
feathery ; another to Love, smiling in Hope and singing on the 
bosom of Might. Cheever likens it, or a similar fountain, to 
the fall of Divine grace into the Christian heart. Liken it to 
what you will, its serene undertone sung, and will ever sing to 
the soul of Memory — a radiant living thing amidst terrific im- 
movableness. I leaped from rock to rock, plucked some flowers 
at its feet, felt its music thrill the heart, and was soon off" again 
amidst the castles in the air, real and palpable, which line this 
Genevan road. 

Li the town of Bonneville, we saw a monument to a prince 
Carlo Felici, erected to his memory, because he — dammed the 
town (the old sinner !) to protect it against the torrent Arve 
which rushes along the valley. 

With what trembling anxiety we approached Grcneva, those 
only can tell who have been pilgrims for two months or more, 
without a word from home. At Geneva were our letters. The 
scenes grew less attractive as we neared the rural city. What 
chances and changes there had been among loved ones, we almost 
feared to know. We hoped, oh ! how earnestly, that all were well 
and living as we left them. Can they be all well and living? Vain 
inquiry ! Is not such a mournful blindness a part of that kind 
Providence, which is ever training the soul to rely upon the 
Almighty Word ? Is it not a part of the lesson which God 
gives, to the weak and inconstant in faith ? 
14 



314 THE ICE-SEA. 

With hearts painfully tremulous, we broke the seals, to find, 
alas ! that one household near to us, was deprived of its happy 
children — that one hearth was no longer vocal with the merry 
twattling and play of the meek-eyed little ones. May God mer- 
cifully guard the living, is the prayer we waft from this home 
of Calvin, to o\ir own dear Ohio ! 



XXV. 

Su mill nrnnnlt imiuL 



" The Rhone by Leman's waters washed, 

Where mingled, yet separate, appears 
The river from the lake, all bhiely dashed 
Through the serene and placid glassy deep." 

£i/ron. 

^T^HERE Is so much impressed, almost simultaneously, upon 
X the miud in these mountain regions, that it staggers under 
the confused mass, in the very intoxication of bewilderment. 
One should have a subtle and pliant pen to picture, imperfectly 
even, these vicissitudes of sublimity and beauty upon lake and 
river, hill and mountain. At one time, you are called to view 
a place so desolate and wild, that you would think it was created 
for the last of human mould. Again you slide down almost in- 
sensibly into the loveliest pastures, by the most beautiful brooks, 
surrounded by the home-endearing chiilets, the fragrance of new 
mown hay, and flowers of every hue. Again you shudder under 
imminent craggy heights, to gaze at which almost takes away 
your breath ; to emerge upon a shore like that of Leman, whose 
pure water under the sun-ray, gleams like a bluish gem set in 
emerald, and sparkles with a light more diamond-like than even 
the bay at Naples, while its shelving green lawns, or vine-terraced 
margins, rise under an atmosphere of beauty where love loved to 
linger, and yet lingers in the pages of Rousseau, and the poetry 
of Byron. You have heard of Mont Blanc being seen sixty miles 
from the spot where he rears his high head, and being reflected 
in clear placid Leman lake near Grcneva's walls at that distance : 
have you not ? Were you now at my window at this hour of 



316 J'^V 'l-V/> AROUND GENEVA. 

sunrise, you might well wonder, start and adore, at the revela- 
tion of splendors, dazzling and soul-entrancing, playing against 
the immovable masses of snow and ice which gild the sides and 
glitter in the crown of Blanc. Could my Buckeye reader look 
westward from Zanesville, and see an elevation of 16.000 feet, 
surrounded by others a few thousand less, through a perspective 
of mountains snow-blanched and pine-clad, robed everlastingly, 
and all so solemn, so still, so sublime — rising out of Columbus^ 
and glaring down plainly to the eye; he would wonder, if this 
be our common world — would he not ? 

But too much of the descriptive wearies. You would prefer 
to hear of these republican cantons ; how they sustain the lone 
banner (for France can hardly be called republican as yet), 
amidst the serried and surrounding ranks of absolutism. We 
Americans are apt to think Switzerland a place of little conse- 
quence — so deeply hid in the mountains that she cannot permeate 
Europe with any influence. We think of her as under a great 
shadow, cast out from communication with the ' rest of mankind.' 
Only enter Geneva, ride up the Lake Leman, whose banks are 
bedecked with homes of simple elegance, and through Vaud and 
Berne, whose fields are alive with the results of industry, and 
there will be found a civilization ripe and advanced, by no means 
circumscribed to the chalet of the peasant, or the hut of the cow- 
herd. Wherever government assures man that he may enjoy 
the fruits of his labor, as it does here, where every one is indus- 
trious, comfort, and even elegance, will reign. How difi'erent 
are the people here from those in the south or middle of Italy. 
Here industry toils for ever, yet in perfect contentment. There 
is not the ostentatious gayety which dances under the festal gar- 
lands or surrounds the bedizened altars of the streets of Naples ; 
but there is a quiet, substantial air of happiness, such as Gold- 
smith pictured in his ' Traveller,' when, from one of these moun- 
tain summits, he surveyed mankind in search of the true philo- 
sophy of life. Whether it be the tidy peasant girl in her white 
bodice, partly hid in dark velvet, knitting at dusk in the door 



7.V AND AROUND GENEVA. 317 

of the cottage ; whether it be the elderly clame who rears her 
top-knot of black gauze in the form of a cap of Elizabethan style, 
bidding you, with a smile, good-day ; whether you are saluted in 
French or German, by Catholic or Protestant, whether by the 
cordial inn-keeper or the obliging vetturino-driver, — there is the 
same blandness of manner and kindness of spirit manifested and 
felt. 

It would repay us but little to travel without seeing some- 
thing besides material prospects. It is well to see the spirit of 
the people, in their every-day life and conversation. More 
glorious than snow-clad mounts, more harmonious than cascades, 
rises the soul of a people, informed with the true feeling of con- 
tentment, and conscious of their individual independence. This 
is our imjiression of the Swiss. When we saw inscribed over 
the quaint portal which led us into the confederation hall at 
Geneva, " The children of Tell shall ever be blessed !" when we 
■saw the simple and unostentatious places for the meeting of tlte 
people and for the deposit of their suffrages ; when we saw in 
their manly air the idea of personal liberty, embodied and ex- 
pressed ; when we looked upon the cultivated landscape, and 
into the busy workshops, then we felt that we were not in 
a land which is under the dominion of irresponsible powers, 
but breathing the air of republicans, who have an account with 
God. truth, and their country ; and we felt too that there was a 
strange remissness on the part of the American Republic, in 
not providing an ambassador to this mountain sisterhood of 
states, whose presence and countenance should shine as an en- 
couragement and a hope to the people amid the surrounding 
tyrannies. But when we listened to the lofty spirituality of 
D'Aubigne, the Homer to Luther, who was the Achilles of the 
Reformation ; when we walked with him along the grassy marge 
of the placid lake, where he resides, and saw in his soul the re- 
flection of the mountain thoughts which towered above the 
ordinary level of life's experience ; when we caught tlie deep 
meaning which beamed from his expressive eye, as he talked of 



318 j'iV AND AROUND GENEVA. 

the Church and State, of the rehxtions of the former to the lat- 
ter, and of the abuses which spring from their union ; when he 
spoke of Truth as superior to Protestantism, we felt that there 
was yet in Switzerhmd a something more excellent than all the 
hierarchies of the South and East, and even grander than the 
republicanism of the mass. . I wondered not that Switzerland 
was a republic, and that from her emanated such powerful 
spiritual influences. Here, where John Knox lived, after being 
banished by a Stuart ; here, where the Regicides, or many of 
them, lived after the Restoration ; here, where our Puritanism 
imbibed its austere spirit of personal accountability, there lives 
in as noble forms as when Farel preached, Q^jcolampadius rea- 
soned, or Calvin and Zwingle taught and ruled, the genuine 
spirit which ever protests against absorbing the individual in 
the State or in the hierarchy. Dr. Malan, and Merle D'Au- 
bigne are the truest embodiment of this spirit living ; and that 
too without the intolerance which stained the name of Calvin, 
or the love of secular power which now weakens the Protestant^ 
Church as at present connected with the State in Geneva.,.-'''''^ 

It seemed as if we were coming home when we started for 
Geneva. Here were our letters, and here were some friends to 
whom I had the kindest introductory letters from a classmate, 
who had sought in Geneva the fountain-head of Calvinism, and while 
quafiing its waters, had plucked an Alpine flower (a daughter of 
the celebrated Dr. Malan), and had borne it to America, where I 
saw him with his bride, full happy, at New Brunswick. To them 
we were indebted for so cordial a greeting from the venerable 
Doctor and his talented family. 

Dr. Malan is one of the leaders of Protestantism in Europe, 
which has always found its front and lead in Geneva. I would 
refer the curious reader to Dr. Cheever for an animated and 
glowing eulogy upon his amiable character. It is not over- 
wrought. How kind is his mien, with his bright eye and elastic 
step (though he is eighty), and flowing white hair. He seems 
like one of the Evangelists returned to earth. Since 1810, he 
Las been a noble soldier amid the most trying crosses. 



IN AND AROUND GENEVA. 



319 



But most I enjoyed my visit to Dr. Merle D'Aubigne, author 
of the History of the Reformation. His residence is upon the 
shores of clear placid Leman, which wooed Byron to ' leave 
life's troubled waters for a purer spring ' — in vain. Our con- 
versation was prolonged for more than an hour, walking (as is 
the hospitable custom here) under the shade-trees which line 
the water of the blue lake. He is like Dr. Wayland in feature, 
in energy of speech, and in character. There is such a pure 
spirituality in his presence, such a light of intelligence beaming 
in his black eye, under his long eye-brow, such a persuasiveness 
in his pure, though not perfectly pronounced English, that I 
listened with thrilling delight to his earnest conversation, as if 
it were an hour to be embalmed for ever. In speaking of the 
East, and the God-forsaken aspect of the old and favorite land 
of Deity, he changed his mournful tone into one of living energy 
as he said, " But — the Spirit of Almighty Grod knows no locality ! 
For well saith Luther, (how he loves to quote the hero of his 
history,) they who do not cherish the seed when it is sown in 
their midst, it must — must die out. God ordains it !" Re- 
gretfully I left these choice men of the Protestant world, to 
feel, if not to see, their shadowy contrast at Ferney, where we 
visited the house, tomb, and old elm tree of Voltaire. We 
walked down the green arbor of beech (it is nearly 300 yards 
long), where the Infidel shrivelled and sneered, as he dictated 
his godless sentiments to his secretary. The arbor commands 
the view of Mont Blanc and his range. The house is being re- 
paired, and the relics of Voltaire removed. The church he 
erected over his tomb, is now — a carriage house ! 

How infinite in its influence is the intellectual power 
which clustered in former times around Lake Leman. Not alone 
that infernal Satanic sneer which lived on the lip and flashed in 
the antitheses of the arch infidel of Ferney ; not alone the attract- 
ive sentimentality and social principles which were the seed of 
the French Revolution, and which filled the novels and imprint- 
ed the ' Social contract ' of Rousseau, whose home, where he lived 



320 ^^' '4i\7) AROUND GENEVA. 

with Madame De Warens at the head of the lake near Vevay, 
we saw ; not alone the learned and philosophic influence of Grib- 
bon, who, amid the green bowers which shade the city of Lau- 
sanne, and along the delicious niai-gin of the lake, turned over 
pages of Latin which none but the schoolmen of the middle ages 
had read, in order to write the decline of the Roman power, and 
to array his immense stores against the holiest of Religions ; 
not alone, these elements of Revolution, Godliness, and Anarchy ; 
but, thank God ! the elements of construction and inspiration, 
more lasting than tomes of learning, more beautiful than senti- 
ment, all invincible to satire, were here — mirrored in thy crystal 
waters. Oh Leman, even as Mont Blanc, with his summit of 
purity high reaching into heaven, is there reflected. Here was 
nursed and cultured that Puritanism, which was the chief cause 
of the American Revolution. Here that Protestantism grew 
which shook the Vatican ; and here still, with Malan, Gaussen 
and D'Aubigne, grows the spirit of the Pilgrim Fathers, which, 
purer than that of Calvin, seeks to sever the State from the 
Church, and will never be ensanguined with the blood of a Ser- 
vetus. Whole nations, constitutions, and revolutions, had their 
germs planted by the intellects who studied, wrote, and lived 
upon these beautiful shores. 

We saw the house of John Calvin in Geneva, which (strange 
mutation !) now overlooks the theatre, which he so despised, and 
an ice-cream saloon, which in defiance of his sumptuary laws 
rises under his window. If the Genevese have not the stern re- 
ligion of their ancestors, yet, as Dr. Malan remarked, God is 
shaking the sieve, and pearls are appearing, not mere Protestants^ 
but true men. 

Madame de Stael at Coppet found a congenial place, and 
even yet it speaks of the taste and elegance of the author of 
Corinne. We walked down its leafy promenades by its bub- 
bling brooks, around its time-honored Chateau, and even around 
the chapel where beside her father, the ill starred Minister, M. 
Neckar, her dust reposes. What a magnificent woman was she ! 



IN AND ABOUND GENEVA. 321 

What a cotemporary of Napoleon ! The widow of Baron do 
Stael, one of her descendants, lives in the Chateau. She was in 
Paris, and the building was in process of repair. 

Greneva and its beautiful environs constitute a complete rural 
city. Owing to its rurality, it scarcely seems circumscribed, as 
far up as the Castle of Chillon, out of whose gloomy prison 
Byron evoked such a genius of poetry, or bounded by the Jura 
upon the one side answering the Alps on the other. 

While at Geneva, we drove to pay a visit to the junction of 
the Arve and Bhone, which Dr. Cheever vaunts upon the 
tallest stilts of his style. It was a very great disappointment. 
The furious Arve, which we had heard in the depths of the 
gorges, and which roared at the base of Blanc, timidly creeps 
along without mingling with the Rhone, which is a different 
river from that which empties its mud into Lcman, in this, that 
it darts away clear and blue. It is an entire misnomer to call 
this the Rhone. How can any one discover the muddy moun- 
tain elf in the aerial sylph which glides through Lake Leman. 
It is owing to the presence of iodine, as Sir Humphrey Davy 
thought, that Leman is indebted for its poetical azure so trans- 
parently beautiful. Our ride up the Lake was in a little steam- 
boat, which stopped at each village upon the banks. Mountain 
scenes still hung in the distant air, almost forgotten amidst the 
profusion of beauty which Art, the handmaiden of Nature, has 
strewn along the shore. Como has a half wild and rocky beauty ; 
Maggiore is still wilder, answering as a preface to the Alps ; 
Leman has all the softness and finish of loveliness. She is 
Beauty adorned, and wearing the adornment with a natural- 
ness that Rousseau knew how to paint, and Byron, even in his 
roughest temper, to feel. 

At the head of the Lake, near Vevay, the great St. Bernard 
shone in his cloud and snow garments, with a noble mien and a 
halo encircling his brow, bespeaking the first in command under 
Blanc ! He rules the plains of Italy, as well as those of Swit- 
zerland, when the Monarch retires within his pavilion of clouds. 
14* 



322 ^-^^ -^^'^ AROUND GENEVA. 

A c-urious bass-relief is that ujion the Cathedral at Fribourg, 
which represents St. Peter and the Devil winnowing mankind 
from their several thrones. The latter personage also appears 
with a hog's head and a big basket on his back, chock full of 
sinners, whom he is turning into a seething caldron, stirred up 
by imps, and into a crocodile's mouth, opening wide. Again 
there is a pair of scales held up, with souls in it, and an imp 
hanging to one side, to make it kick the beam in favor of perdi- 
tion. Surely John Bunyan has a rival in allegory in this artist. 
Rough in execution, it may be ; but more expression than I can 
tell. Yet not more curious than the clock we saw to-day at 
Berne. Who would not have laughed to have seen us, with a 
dozen other travellers, German students, soldiers, English and 
French, waiting, with a pain in the neck, to see it strike ? Well, 
the hour came. Up rises a rooster, flaps his wings, Cock-a- 
doodle-doo-oo-oo ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! roar the astonished idlers. 
Out rush a company of bears, (the national brute of Berne ; they 
keep several hundred at public expense; we saw their dens;) 
some on horseback, some with swords, all looking most quizzical 
and grotesque ; when — pause — then an odd gentleman in knight- 
ly armor, a ghost of the middle ages, beats the hour in the 
tower above, while an old fellow who sits above the bears, opens 
his mouth and nods his head, as the stroke falls, and gradually 
turns over an hour-glass in his hands. Surely we are coming 
into Germany now. Indeed, the yaiv and ncin begin to an- 
nounce the fact, had we no curious horologues to tell it. 

None but a German, although a Swiss, could like a bear. 
Why ? If the reader cannot tell, read on ! — Every where, — on 
the coins, at the fountains, upon the crackers and gingerbread, 
stuflFed in the Museum, and alive climbing trees and in their 
dens at Berne, — is Bruin, the pet of the people and the glory of 
art. The French carried off some two hundred bears to Paris, 
and put them in the Jardin des Plantes, in 1798; but they 
were demanded back with as much ceremony by Berne, as were 
franchises by other nations. 



IN AND AEOUND GENEVA. 323 

Wc may be said to have fairly entered Grerman Switzerland 
when we cross the great bridge at Fribourg. This bridge, by 
the way, deserves a notice. It spans the Saarine river, which 
runs into the Rhine below Schaffhausen. It is a wire-suspen- 
sion, and has the longest single curve of any in the world, not 
even excepting Menai, near Liverpool. Menai is 580 feet long, 
130 feet high ; that of Fribourg is 941 feet long and 180 feet 
high. It commands a magnificent prospect ; though we did not, 
on account of the drizzle, see much more than the beautiful vale. 

"We feared that we should leave Switzerland without a view 
of the Bernese Alps, with their Jungfrau and Wetterhorn, their 
Lautcrbriinnen, and Grindenwald. But no ! Scarcely had we 
left Berne, when a few minutes of sunshine cleared the sky, so 
as to permit us a farewell to this magnificent range, the scene of 
Manfred and William Tell ; the glittering snow-peaks whose 
evening hues shine like the gates of heaven to which they ever- 
lastingly aspire. This view from a terrace near Berne, is its 
greatest charm. Although celebrated as the capital of the 
Cantons, whose Diet is now in session : although curious for its 
bears, and, like other Swiss towns, for its fountains ; although 
celebrated for its fine streets with paves, roofed above for foot- 
passengers ; yet nothing attracts the stranger so much as the 
distant Alps, with their robes of white and peaks of terror ! 

At all times fortunate, we enjoyed the vision. It well suffices 
for a closing view of these capital characters of the Creator — 
these ' unambiguous footsteps of the Deity' — written so clearly 
and boldly over these cantons of freedom. May the latter ever 
be as free from the footsteps of the despot, as Tell would have 
had them, and as the Alps themselves, in their lofty state of 
individual yet linked independence ; and may they be as per- 
manent, too. as those Alps upon their sunless pillars deep in 
earth ! 



XXVI. 

'^fu tilt Cnniints nf linit)i?rloiili. 

" Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vales among the rocka 1" 

Bryant. 

UPON tlie evening of the 28th of July, the most ancient and 
walled city of Solcure, received us at its great gate, in 
feudal style, and regaled us with strawberries and cream, foun- 
tains that murmur, and promenades that please. As I write at 
the midnight hour, the sweetest of fountains, twins in melody 
and in beauty, burst near my window beneath the reverend 
forms of Moses smiting the rock, and Grideon wringing the 
fleece, sculptured in superb style, and guarding the steps which 
lead up to the Corinthian Cathedral before our hotel. 

We visited the interior of the Cathedral. Noiselessly we 
walked under its white and chaste canopy of carved stone, and 
amid its silent worshippers. Nought was heard to break the 
religious stillness, save the whisper of the confessing and the 
suppressed bass of the priest in the gloomy confessional. The 
radiant images of the Virgin and of the Saviour beamed with mild 
love from the walls, and led our hearts away from the fastnesses 
and sublimities of nature, with which they had become so 
familiar, into the sercner atmosphere of affection. The loved 
ones at home smiled so tearfully and happily, that, entranced in 
thoughts of them, we soon saw with the mental eye, only their 
invisible forms. After all, there are no forms we see while 
abroad, so enrapturing to behold as those which rise impurpled 
in love's own light, at the heart's warm bidding. Sculpture hath 
no such grace, painting no such warn:>th as that which moves 



UPON THE CONFINES OF SWITZERLAND. 325 

and glows aroixnd the hearth-stone. We may visit the home 
where Calvin lived and died, as we did in Geneva, and claim 
him as a kindred spirit ; we may see, as we did a few hours 
since, the house where Kosciusko lived, while an exile from the 
land he so loved, and revere his memory as connate with that 
of our own Washington; we may glow, while contemplating 
their excellencies, with kindred sparks ; but at last, the mild 
and heavenly eye of a Madonna, from the minster-wall, will 
recall a mother's tenderness and care, and awaken the filial fear 
and love ; while tearfully will go up the orison to Him who can 
guard, that he will protect from harm and woe, those to whom 
we are bound by the closest ties of earth. 

Since writing the foregoing, we have traversed the remaining 
portion of Switzerland which lies between Soleure and Basle. 
This morning, we arrived at the latter place and found it — like 
Soleure, — well walled, with pepper-box towers around, and 
protcullises and the other paraphernalia of a free city of the 
middle ages, which it once was. Indeed it has not lost its cha- 
racter. This is the ancient city which furnished such convenient 
refuge to French Protestants, when to be one was to be burned. 
Farel, Anemand, Esch, Touissaint and their friends, here estab- 
lished the first general Evangelical Society. Hither fled those 
refugees of Lyons and Grenoble, which the good Murgaret 
Valois, sister to Francis I., attempted in vain to shield. It was 
here that Luther's works and the Scriptures were first published 
in French, and here was the first Bible and Tract Society estab- 
lished. We had heard that so religiously strict were the 
descendants of these French refugees and of their protectors, 
that we could not obtain ingress within the walls, if the people 
were attending service. But we had not arrived within a half 
mile of the gate, before we saw a crowd of over two hundred 
collected around a circus, under the tent of which, a dozen 
hobby horses were flying around, mounted by youngsters with 
steels picking off rings as they passed a spot, to the great diver- 
sion of the elders. We had just left Soleure when the chimes 



326 rP02\ TEE CONFINES OF SWITZERLAND. 

were ringing the people to churcli, and a sawmill was cutting 
timber under the belfry's shadow ; we had seen the stores all 
open there, and the peasants cutting their grain and working as 
usual all along the road ; but we were not prepared for such 
impiety at Basle. Shade of Erasmus ! where is your " praise of 
folly ?" Your coterie of brilliants no longer shines around your 
witty board. Myconnis, Amberbach, Glarean — astute scholars 
and cordial spirits — where are they now ? Have they no voice, 
to sting with satire the degeneracy of these Basle-folk 1 Alas ! 
Erasmus lies in the old Cathedral, with the ungainly picture of 
St. George on horseback piercing the dragon as its frontispiece ; 
and the noisy city rumbles by, unconscious of the Sabbath, intent 
on pleasure, and unwounded by the satire of the scholar. 

We were down to see the Rhine. It was our fii'st glance at 
this magician. I will not speak of him yet. The righteous 
people of ancient Basle were not on its bridge ; and you cannot 
even truthfully repeat Longfellow's stanza, 

" There sat one day in quiet, 

By an ale-house on the Rhine, 
Four hale and hearty fellows, 
And drank the precious wine." 

The fellows and the wine are not wanting ; but the quiet — 
ah ! one must go farther away from French neighborhood and 
into phlegmatic North-Germany, to find that — at least on a 
Sunday. Every body is out pitching quoits, rolling nine-pins, 
drinking wine, listening to music at cafes, and playing the noisy 
Diabolus generally. 

In Switzerland, our mode of travel has been performed by 
means of vetturino — a hired carriage, for which we have 
a special contract, and which we can control as we please. 
Through a country sparkling with cascades and frowning with 
mountains, this ad libitum mode of conveyance is as convenient 
as it is pleasant. The roads every where are of the best 
quality, being in direct contrast with the roads at home, where, 



UPON THE CONFINES OF SJVrrZEKLAND. 327 

in wet weather, off of the turnpikes, ruts and mud prevail. 
Indeed, all the roads are elegantly McAdamized. The hotels, 
too, are of the most accommodating kind. At many of them we 
find some one who can speak English, and at all of them some 
one who can speak French. A little French to begin a tour 
with, is a great deal. The image of the rolling snowball was 
never more applicable than to the stud}^ of French by travelling : 
a basis is necessary to start with. It was humorous to see 
four Swiss citizens of Berne in our car going to Heidelberg, 
trying to practise the little English they were and had been 
studying. We were the target, and such fires as they made. 
The awkward squad, tipsy with the worst '• old rye," nevei* 
popped at a mark with such abominable inexactitude. We hope 
they will do better before they reach London, whither they are 
bound for the exhibition. We hope, too, that our primary 
efforts at French were not so convulsive to the hearer. 

A goodly number from Germany and Switzerland, arc en 
route for Loudon. The exhibition will attract more the next 
month than it has during any other. Prints of it are in every 
window of every print-shop in all the places we pass through, 
gazed at with open-eyed wonder, by idlers. It is a constant topic 
of conversation. It is the theme of every inquiry. No one was 
so curious as the little lass, of bright eye and dimpled cheek, 
who waited on us at the summit of the Simplon pass. She had 
helped to make, as she told me, the mammoth cheese ; and was 
extremely anxious to know if I had not noticed it in the palace. 
I told her, nay ; but added that I would look it up on my re- 
turn. A cheese from the milk of cows that eat the grass which 
grows on mounts snow-topped, and 8,000 feet above the flags of 
the glass palace, is a cheese that is not to be passed by indif- 
ferently. To some pui'pose the glacier melts to irrigate the 
valley — to some purpose doth the grass grow upon the heights 
of the Alps — to some purpose the cow-bell tinkles at evening in 
the vale. Cheese is one of the greatest of the products of 
Switzerland ; and evei-y nicety and care is taken to bring its 



328 Uroy THE CONFINES OF SWITZERLAND. 

manufacture to a higli state of perfection. Among the most 
noticeable objects in a Swiss and German landscape, is the cot- 
tage, under whose ample straw roof, both the peasant and the 
kine are closely housed. As much care is taken of the cheese- 
producers as of the cheese-eaters. The proximity of the stable 
and house would not be agreeable to very refined olfactories. 

It is' interesting to move around these homes of the Reform- 
ers, to feel the struggle they felt, to recall the risk they ran, and 
to glory in their triumphs. Our way northward, will be amidst 
such scenes. And yet while possessed of a diiferent faith, and 
belonging to a country where Protestantism preponderates, we 
•fehould not forget that all-embracing toleration, which our Con- 
stitution embodies and our national spirit fosters. We have 
seen the rude images of the Saviour hanging to the cross, along 
the Valley of the Rhone ; have seen in Malta the priest sitting 
at the church door under the sign " Plenaria Indulgeuzia ;" have 
seen the Roman people kissing the silver toe of the Madonna ; 
and while shrinking from these modes of devotion so alien to 
our own education and faith, we know that God who seeth the 
heart is their judge, and He only. 



XXVII. 

/atlitrlniiii. 

'• Here I stand, I cannot otliemvise. God lielp me ! Amen !" 

Luther hefore the Diet of Wo)'ms. 

BETWEEN Basle and Heidelberg, which we ran on a rail- 
road, at a cheap rate too, the country is well cultivated. 
Ploughed grounds, harvest fields, gardens of cabbages, and vines 
without measure, line the way. We begin to enter the region 
of castles. We stopped long enough at the capital of Baden, 
Carlsruhe, to admire the beautiful palace of the Grand Duke, in 
the centre of the city, from which all the streets run as the 
radii of a circle. The valley of the Rhine is wide and level 
until it reaches Heidelberg, where two mountains — rather small 
specimens after being in Chamouni — part to receive a respecta- 
ble city, which, beginning in the plain, runs up between them 
along the Rhone. Heidelberg has associations not a few. Long- 
fellow, in his Hyperion, has inwoven with the old castle which 
so majestically overlooks the enchanting scenery, some of the 
most pleasing sentiments ; while the media3val and reformatoiy 
ages march around its University halls and invincible ramparts, 
■v^ith banners of heroic and classic device. Here a chapter of 
the Augustine order met in 1518, which Luther attended, tra- 
velling from Wittenbei'g afoot, drinking in the scenery, disput- 
ing with Miger, and spreading abroad his bold and then heretical 
doctrines. Here his timid co-reformer, the gentle Philip Me- 
lancthon, studied before he began his labors. But most is Hei- 
delberg interesting for tlie castle. We have seen none like it, 
in associations, in beauty, in situation, in environment. We 
rode down the valley, before we began to ascend its heights, 



330 F^ TJIERLAND. 

and stopped at an enchanting spring called Wolf brunnen, where 
an enchantress called Jetta, the Cassandra of the Palatinate, 
was torn in pieces by a wolf A girl amused us by throwing min- 
nows to fish of larger fry, who dashed about in the clear waters, 
where they are kept as pets. The speckled trout took my fancy, 
as they darted out of the shadow into the sunlight, snapped a 
little fellow-fish, turned a flip-fiap, and evanished. But this 
wolfy place is small game, compared to the old red walls, with 
their carved armed knights filling the niches, and the heavy 
battlements surrounding the gardens, wherein the Electors Pa- 
latine once luxuriated. The castle is a perfect specimen of the 
middle-age architecture, strong with its portcullis, and beautiful 
in its archways and lawns. Statues of the family of the Elec- 
tors are around. But the most interesting part is the English 
palace, built for Elizabeth, granddaughter of Mary, Queen of 
Scots, who married the Elector Frederick V. He built the 
noble arch of triumph which may be discerned among the shad- 
ows of the trees, entwined with heavy hangings of ivy, to cele- 
brate the nuptials. It leads to a garden which was tastefully 
arranged for her pleasure. The reader of Mrs. Jameson will 
remember Elizabeth for a Stuart of the deepest dye, as proud 
and as arrogant as her degradation was beggarly and severe. A 
thick growth of glistening ivy clusters around each old wall, and 
enwraps with its trunk the stones of the ruins, as with bands of 
iron. The view of the country, of the Kaiser's Stuhl, of the 
three towers of Manhelm down the A^ale, and of the tree-clad 
hills toward the Oberland, is bewitching under the red glow of 
the sinking sun. More especially is it fine after the dim eclipse 
which the orb has been suffering during the afternoon, and 
which we, with others at our hotel, through smoked glass, and in 
tubs of water, have curiously observed. 

The height of the tower is near 1,500 feet. We passed 
through the prison, into the chapel, out upon the terraces of 
stone which overlook the vale, and afford a view of the magnifi- 
cent front with its traceries of fruit and foliage, its statues and 



FA THERLAND. 331 

antique heads. The front rises in three portions, each capped 
with a statue. 

I should not forget the wine casks of the cellar, the largest 
of which contains 800 hogsheads ! It is 36 feet long and 24 
feet high. When it is filled, the lads and lasses have a dance 
upon the platform on top. With so much wine under one's 
heels, one ought to trip it with wonderful vivacity, if not with 
grace. The cask is a wonder, only exceeding by a few feet its 
younger sister in the room hard by. 

I have too much to write, and too little time to say it, to 
dwell long even in Heidelberg, with its students, its views, and 
its history. As a curious relic of the era, when Germany was 
united to the empire, and when the Palatinate had a large voice 
in the choice ; of an era when chivalry poised its lance and 
lived in feudal towers, it stands unrivalled. An edifice, rival- 
ling the castle in elegance, now stands in the city of Heidel- 
berg, but it is a vtdgar railroad station ; and although its 
gardens display fine taste, its columns rise in harmony, and its 
rooms are decorated finer than ever was lady's bower in the feu- 
dal day — yet the soft twilight of antiquity is not on them. The 
coal smoke of the locomotive is not a very choice medium of 
beauty. A day and a half exhausted Heidelberg, and we were 
soon pushing onward through Darmstadt, a city situated among 
hills, studded with castles, where Charlemagne and his barons 
held their court. 

The vine and tobacco ; (oh ! Fatherland, what oblivion dwells 
in these your staples !) peasant women harvesting wheat with 
small knives, and men cutting grass with scythes that gave no 
bend to the body ; with alternation of green and golden fields, 
adorned with no stake or rider, indeed no fence at all — these in 
fast succession are passed, until the Maine, with Frankfort upon 
it, and a bridge leading over it, appeared. 

This is a city that looks business-like. No lazy lazza- 
roni or sleepy Italians here. Bustle and industry indicate the 
old free town. Fine streets and houses indicate the presence of 



332 ^'4 TIIERLAND. 

tlie Bankers and Ambassadors of Germany. We were not long 
in being hotelled, nor in seeking the curious. We found the 
latter in the Library, upon the Maine bank, a splendid structure 
containing twenty thousand books, together with the portraits of 
Luther, and his most excellent wife Katharine. The latter was 
so modest, and nun-like, so devout and simple-hearted in her 
appearance, compared to the gruflf and harsh reformer, that we 
could not wonder at the docility of the latter under her gentle 
tuition, and the tender lamb-like letters he used to write her, 
when off from home, talking of indulgences and reformation. In 
the same glass case is shown his shoes — and rough ones too. 
The poorest American (if he has any) has a better pair than had 
the learned Doctor Martin. Not particularly fond of the beau- 
tiful material, but of the beautiful spiritual, was the brave old 
heart. His writings would indicate that, if his shoes had no 
meaning. We saw here his autograph, and two letters written 
by him. by the side of a letter of Melancthon, and one of Na- 
poleon. 

What momentous results have emanated from the bold action 
of the poor miner's son of Eisleben — the humble Augustine 
Friar Martin ! With the world against him, empires threaten- 
ing to devour him, — the thunders of the Vatican aimed at his 
destruction, he remained firm and invincible. We have placed 
his bold declaration at the head of our chapter on Germany ; 
because he is the most German man in history. He had all the 
virtues and faults of the German nature. Dreamy in his mys- 
ticism, he was still an actor in the most severe trials of life. A 
fine scholar, he nevertheless was eminently social. His social 
disposition is one of the most beautiful traits in his character. 
It is said of him, that though he could scold like a fish-wife, he 
could be soft as a tender maiden ; sometimes as wild as the storm 
that uproots the oak, and then as gentle as the zephyr that dal- 
lies with the violet. Nowhere is his kindly disposition so mani- 
fest as in his epistles to his good wife Katharine, while absent 
from home. T cannot refrain from referring to these, while gaz- 



FATIlERLAyi). .,.,0 

000 

ing upon the portraits of the happy twain in the Library. One 
of his letters, and perhaps the one we saw, is addressed " to my 
Gracious Lady, Katharine Luther, of Bora and Zulsdorf, near 
Wittenberg ; my Sweetheart. Grace and Peace, my dear maid 
and wife ! Your grace shall know we are here, God be praised ! 

fresh and sound ; eat like Bohemians ; yet not to excess guzzle 

like Germans— yet not much ; but are joyful." Another is ad- 
dressed, " To the rich Lady at Zulsdorf, Lady Katharin Luther- 
in, — bodily resident at Wittenberg, and mentally wandering at 
Zulsdorf, — my beloved, for her own hands." Another still in 
reply to an anxious letter of his wife's ; '• To the deeply learned 

Katharin Lutherin, my Gracious Housewife at Wittenberg 

Doctoress — Self-Martyress, my Gracious Lady for her hands and 
feet. Grace and Peace in the Lord, dear Kate ! Do thou read 
John and the little catechism. For thou must needs care before 
thy God, just as if he were not Almighty and could not create ten 
Doctor Martins, if the single old one were to drown in the Soale, 
or the Ovenhole, or Wolf's Vogelhierd. Leave me in peace with 
thy anxiety. I have a better guardian than thoit and all tlie 
angels are. Therefore be in peace ! Amen !" 

What a rough disguise is here for the most tender affection. 
The man of logic and fierce debate is seen playing with the 
heart-strings of home, and tinting with the rose the sober reali- 
ties of his life and its mission ; and who shall say that the Great 
Reformer does not appear more lovely in his life on account of 
this tenderness and affection ? How demurely sweet his good 
nun-wife seems in the portrait, beside her fond yet rugged hus- 
band-Doctor. The first is dressed with a nun's veil in close 
folds enveloping her head ; a dark fur mantle investing her per- 
son, except the open front, which is adorned with a white lace 
habit ; ruffles encirling her neck ; which together with the mantle 
are caught and fastened by cord and tassels, while her delicate 
little hands are meekly folded across her lap ; and her whole ap- 
pearance is in contrast with the burly Reformer, in his monkish 
hat and gown. These portraits are the only authentic ones 
known to exist, and in consequence arc prized pricclcssly. 



334 FATHERLAND. 

The statue of Goethe, who lived and died here, which is seen 
in the vestibule to the library, is by Marchesi, and is so com- 
manding in the intellectual sphere within which it sits like Jove 
enthroned amid the circle of Olympus, that it enthrals the be- 
holder at the first glance. It is of Carrara marble. A larger 
image of the great poet is placed among the trees of a promenade, 
and is of bronze. It represents him as holding the wreath of 
literary fame, and dressed in the modern costume which appears 
beneath the ancient flowing toga. The bass-reliefs below are 
emblematic and appropriate. Well may Frankfort place promi- 
nently before her citizens the form of the great man of modern 
Germany. The intellectual power which commands your admi- 
ration, from the marble features of Goethe, is immense. The 
many-sided man of the world, knowing, restless, subtle, omitting 
no means or avenue to the human heart ; at once sarcastic and 
facetious, thrilling and tender, wild and sublime, — Goethe, has 
embodied in language a spirit and an essence which has for ever 
imprinted its influence upon literature. Whether he seeks to 
exhibit all that is most terrific and demoniac in nature by the 
creation of Mephistophiles ; or whether, like the demon, he as- 
sumes every phase of human nature, — he is still the peerless in- 
tellect, — the mental apex, having sixty millions of Germans for 
its base. 

Busts of Goethe are to be seen in the shop windows, and re- 
presentations of his genius are at every square. There is a fine 
emblem of his poetic inspiration in the library, where the poet 
is represented on the winged horse soaring above Olympus, 
sweeping the regions of the unknown, and visiting world after 
world by the might of* his genius. Another statue, prized very 
much by the people of Frankfort, is that which illustrates the 
beautiful myth of Ariadne. It represents her at the culmina- 
ting point of her history, when deserted by Theseus. Theseus 
was sent, with other Athenian prisoners, to be devoured by the 
centaur, in the midst of the labyrinth of Minos. He was enabled, 
by the aid of Ariadne, the daughter of Minos, to get into and 



FATHERLAND. 335 

out of the labyrinth by a thread ; and promised, for his release, 
to wed and carry oif the nymph as his bride. He wedded ; then 
deserted her while she was sleeping. Bacchus became enamored 
of her, in the loveliness of her woe, and made her immortal. 
The statue represents her after she has been wedded to immor- 
tality in the person of the God of the Vineyard. She is seated 
upon the leopard of Bacchus, with proud and beautiful mien, 
conscious of the celestial ichor which now bounds in her veins ! 
This statue is exhibited by its owner, Mr. Bethingen, at his 
princely residence, amidst a number of inferior marbles and 
casts. 

But above all the results of German art, and incomparably 
superior to any painting we have yet seen in Europe (always 
excepting the Transfiguration), is the painting at the Museum 
by Lessing, known as " Huss before the Council of Constance." 
The ill-fated, but true-souled reformer, is represented amidst a 
group of sensual cardinals, priests and curious lookers on, some 
jeering, others intent upon his words of new life, others astounded 
at his boldness ; but all yielding in effect to the superior air of 
Huss, who stands unappallcd, with one hand upon his heart, the 
other upon the Word, and with the majesty and earnestness of a 
deep-seated persuasion, invincible as the soul itself to the threat- 
enings of man, and lofty in the full consciousness of its immortal 
nature ! 

Huss was a light that beamed so brightly in the surrounding 
gloom, that it could not long remain. He leaped at once to the 
grandest truths. He did not, like Luther even, dally with old 
errors long after he had received new truths. When driven out 
of Prague into Bohemia, what said he % "I am no dreamer, but 
of this I am certain, that the image of Christ only will never 
be effaced. I, awakening from the dead, will leap with gi-eat 
joy." The artist has not made him a man of dreams, but of 
massive, wakeful mind, with pale high brow, a deep and mild, 
yet heavenly beaming eye, and sustained with the cofiscia recti 
of a lofty spiritual independence. There is a species of abstrac- 



336 FATHERLAND. 

tion in the countenance that speaks of the mould of the man ; 
and an air of superiority in his very humility, that almost awes 
you, as if it were a presence and a power. And is not the 
highest reach of art owing to the presence of powerful thought, 
seeking communion through the eye and mind with the deatli- 
less essence within ? Does not Huss, from the canvas, tell us 
of trial, study, patience, opprobrium, and as the crown — glory, 
if not here, then hereafter ? 

His mournful history is a painful commentary upon the per- 
jury of royal and ecclesiastical power, which had given him a 
solemn and written assurance of protection, and broke their 
promise, in order to rejoice around the crackling flames that 
consumed the body, bvit could not harm the soul of one of the 
noblest martyrs of Christendom. 

The Cathedral in Frankfort has no merit as a structure. 
One of the Emperors reposes in it ; and some fifty of them were 
therein crowned. We sat in the old chair in which their august 
majesties used to sit, but fovmd no particular virtue in the ope- 
ration. The Romer, or town-house, should never be omitted, 
especially by one who is fond of tracing back to its source in the 
German forests, the origin of that race which broke down the 
Koman power, united France, Germany, and Italy under one 
great head, penetrated Britain with its Saxon arm, and is fast 
rescuing the wilds of the western world from the dominion of 
Nature, and of the Spaniard. What an energy, a will, a steady 
unbroken perseverance burned in the old German tribes ! You 
will find them all knit into the stalwart frames and proudly- 
rough bearing of Charlemagne and his successors, as they look 
down from their panels in the old Banqueting Hall of the 
town-house. The costumes are preserved, and underneath are 
the mottoes of each, in Latin, which speak much of justice and 
rectitude, but every where of boldness and decision in maintain- 
ing their right. 

These portraits are by Lessing, Bendemann, and other emi- 
nent artists of Germany. The Hall is in the shape of a rhom- 



FATHERLAND. 337' 

boid, and is the place where the Emperors were waited upon by 
the kings and princes at the festivities. We went into the Elec- 
tion Chamber, where the senate of Frankfort now meets and 
where of old the electors met to choose the Emperor. The 
honor of Emperor was long monopolized by the house of Haps- 
burg, now the ruling house of Austria. One among the many 
blessings which Napoleon conferred upon Europe, was the 
breaking up of this German Empire, with its hosts of Princes, 
Dukes, and Kings. There is now in the German mind an in- 
tense longing for a reunion, but not under the old rulers. The 
tie which so long gave unity to Germany grew weaker with 
time, in proportion as Prussia and Austria grew powerful and 
jealous of each other. Frederick the Great first suggested the 
idea of a separate union of Prussia with the other German 
States, except Austria. Ever since, Prussia has endeavored to 
render the policy of Austria impotent. Fear of Napoleon al- 
layed for a time the hatred of Austria and Prussia ; but in 1792 
Prussia, by the treaty of Basle, secured for itself peace, while 
Austria was left to rejoice in such equivocal blessings as Maren- 
go, Austerlitz, and Hohenlinden furnished. Prussia grew strong ; 
Austria poor. In 1815, when Bonaparte fell, a German confed- 
eration, with Austria and Prussia for its head, and four free 
towns, of which Frankfort was one, at the other extremity, was 
formed, and regulated by a Diet which here assembled. It soon 
became the puppet of Austria and Russia, The fevers of 1848 
disturbed somewhat this one-sided amicable game of princes ; 
and a crisis was produced which called for constitutions and a 
union of the sixty millions of Germans under one great Nation- 
ality, with Liberty as its soul ! But you know how things then 
eventuated. The King of Prussia might have made himself the 
Saviour of Germany ; but the golden time culminated and set ; 
and Liberty still remained — a dream of the Universities — a play- 
mate of the ocean waves and wild winds, with no practical home 
in this splendid land. Weak, eccentric and reckless, showing at 
times excellent pluck, and again humiliating himself between 
15 



338 FATHERLAND. 

Russia and Austria — Frederick William, the King of Prussia, 
consented to be virtually crushed at Warsaw in the Schleswig 
difficulty, and at a time, too, when the people of Prussia were 
aroused with the finest spirit, and when absolutism again trem- 
bled for its power. Shall Germany ever reduce her ideal liberty 
to practical suffrages and legislatures, without this everlasting 
military and royal pageantry ? We trust that their good day 
will dawn. How many Germans in America now pray for the 
same benison on their Fatherland ? 

Before leaving Frankfort, I should not forget the visit we 
made to Luther's house, which, with the portrait and the in- 
scription, still remain over the doorway, near the town-house, 
and but a few steps from the two fountains, which, upon ancient 
coronation days, when the empire was at its zenith, ran with 
white and red wine for the populace. Neither should I forget 
the scarlet cloth at the Romer, which, upon the same day of re- 
joicing, the Emperor walked upon to the Cathedral, and which 
the people had the privilege of cutting ofi", piece by piece, as he 
passed, to the sad jeopardy of a royal pair of heels. 

We leave Frankfort for the North in the morning. Our 
purchases of glass and pictures, our view of the city, with its odd 
houses, its scaly tiles, its mirrors before the windows reflecting 
the street in the room, its fine railroad stations, and its hearty, 
industrious, good-natured people, is finished, and we are off for 
Mayence, to take a boat for the Rhine beauties and Cologne. 



XXVIII. 

Dnnrn tljr Ejiin?, ml mnm in WMm, 

" He through the armed files 

Darts his experienced eye. and soon traverse 
The whole battalion views ; their order due ; 
Their numbers last he sums. And now his heart 
Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength, 
Glories." Ifilion. 

AS we shake hands at Frankfort, let us not imitate those old 
gentlemen we saw at the station, who embracing, kiss each 
other three or four times upon each cheek with all the enthu- 
siastic smack of a girl just from her boarding-school. Let us 
not disturb either that life-and-death parting between the dra- 
goon and his lady love, perhaps his wife, whose chubby cheeks 
hang in close proximity to an abyss of hair upon his upper and 
nether facial department. But in true American style, blow 
your whistle, not the horn as here, and under the supervision 
of one conductor, not six to a train as here, dash over the track 
to Mayence, at which we must most curiously look, and why ? 
Because it was the home of the proud old electors 2 Pshaw ! We 
are tired of such antiques. Nor of the luxurious canons either, 
who here, amid enormous revenues, returned to the Pope the 
ungracious and impudent answer, when reproved by him for 
their worldly habits, that they had more wine than was needed 
for mass, and not enough to turn their mills. No, no, for wines 
and vines are becoming common, very ; but because it was the 
home of two great minds — Walpoden, who liberated trade from 
the duties which each robber in his feudal castle exacted from 
the merchant, by his active efforts in forming the Rhenish, after- 



340 DOWN THE RHINE, 

wards the Hanseatic league ; and Gutemberg the discoverer 
of printing — the ' Dermiurgus of the world,' the true leveller of 
man. The people of Mayence have erected a statue to the lat- 
ter, and in this age, when unfettered traffic is becoming appre- 
ciated, a suitable monument to the former might not be inappro- 
priate. 

It rained as we passed through Mayence, so that we barely 
got a glimpse of its towers before we were ushered into a Rhine 
steamer, and were plowing its yellow waters with arrowy ra- 
pidity. 

Now, if you expect a panorama of the Rhine from my pen, 
you are doomed to be disappointed — agreeably ; for I will not 
inflict a description. You should have seen our party alive — 
literally and emphatically, to this Rhine scenery. What makes 
it so attractive ? Ah ! there I am at a loss. It is not altogether 
the strange towns walled to the water's edge, and leading out 
to the river under old archways in ruin, with their quaintly paint- 
ed houses ; it is not altogether the shelving lawns and the har- 
vest and green fields ; not altogether the tall, terraced vineyards 
rising from the river among rocks to the altitude of fifteen hun- 
dred feet ; although all these are beautiful indeed. It is not alto- 
gether the changing prospect ahead, by which the river widens 
into a magic lake seemingly without outlet, and crowned upon 
its margin with castles of the middle ages, which jut out, and 
point upward amid crags that seem hung in air, and twisted in 
every shape ; it is not altogether the dim old traditions which 
haunt these spots, some purple with wild loves, others red with 
bloody hate, others black witli devilish deeds ; it is not alogether 
the nunneries, the palaces of kings and emperors, the green isles, 
and bridges of boats, nor the Gothic churches hid beneath the 
shadow of these Rhenish strongholds ; it is not the dance of Bac- 
chus, Ceres, and Pomona, from hill to hill ; not the magic echo 
which is repeated fifteen times from the gun and horn of the 
shore ; not the romantic prance of the steeds of the soldiers 
wending their way along the little road of the banks ; not the 



A^D ACROSS TO WATERLOO. 341 

spot wliere Blucher's army hailed the Rhine after they had drank 
themselves drunk with the blood of the retreating French at 
Waterloo ; not the •' two brothers," rival crags — the seven sis- 
ters, rocks once maidens ; not the great rafts of the Rhine ; not 
3"on prison of torture, which betokens our approach to Coblentz 
out of whose lofty but gloomy turrets the scream of agony 
upon the rack once burst upon the frighted air ; not that range 
of towers embosomed in green, rising upon an eminent crag that 
hangs above the Rhine, in whose ancient halls the royal house 
of Prussia recently received Victoria ; not Coblentz itself, the 
Rhenish Gibraltar, with the Drachenfels, and the other six moun- 
tains, whose battlements no iron shower could ever quell ; not 
even the classic isle near Weissenthum, where the French cross- 
ed in 1797, and where Csesar, as every school-boy well remem- 
bers, crossed upon his famous bridge, pictures of which Anthon 
has introduced into his edition to gratify the youthful curiosity, 
unsatisfied with the knotty text ; not the ' banks of the blue Mo- 
zelle ,' nor the rickety old ruin called the Devil's House ; not all 
these severally, but all these collectively, form a complete scene, 
where romance struggles with industry, where beauty rises up 
into grandeur, and where a heritage of legendary lore floats 
around and above them all in strange, dreamy lustre. There is 
one spot nearly opposite the Drachenfels, around which romance 
has woven an entrancing story, as simple as it is touching. The 
artist has represented it in the beautiful vignette upon our title 
page. From the picture, the relative position of mountain, crags, 
river, isle, nunnery, and road may be seen ; and thus the eye may 
aid the imagination in grouping a scene whose physical charm 
is enhanced by a legend, which, for the honor of our kind, we 
hope is not altogether the offspring of fiction. The spot is con- 
secrated to the memory of a brave knight, Roland, who built 
upon the lofty crown of the mountain a tower which overlooks 
an isle to which his lady love- retired. Bulwer thus tells the 
legend : — Roland goes to the wars. A false report of his death 
reaches his betrothed. She retires to the convent in the isle of 



342 • DOWN THE RHINE, 

Nunnenwortli, which yet exists as the vignette represents it, and 
takes the irrevocable veil. Roland returns home, flushed with 
glory and hope, to find that the very fidelity of his betrothed 
had placed an eternal barrier between them. He built the castle 
that bears his name, and which overlooks the monastery, and 
dwelt there till his death : happy in the power, at least to gaze, 
even to the last, upon the walls which held the treasure he had 
lost. 

There is a mournful tenderness about the legend, which the 
scene seems to reflect. Indeed, the whole margin of the Rhine 
is instinct with a mournful influence, which the spirit in vain 
strives to repel. 

The romance of the Rhine ends before you reach Cologne ; 
and when you reach that city — Oh ! spirit of Coleridge — what 
a mire ! what a hole ! We reached there in a drizzle, and left 
in a drizzle, — not very favorable circumstances under which to 
view a town, celebrated in the finest transcendental muse for 
its filth. The city looked well from the river, but when once in 
the streets, there was nothing but sloppiness, dirtiness, and mud- 
diness, intolerable ; splashed by boys, drays and horses, draggled 
by women's dresses, and odorous with every imaginable scent, 
prime and distingviishable among which is the — can de Cologne ! 
Oh ! ye nymphs of Mud, and muses of Dirt ! I distinctly call 
upon you to blot out from my mind the memory of Cologne. If a 
man wishes to insult me, let him revive that memory by putting 
a bottle of the can under my nose — if he dares ! 

The city has a heritage of Roman renown. Many old mon- 
iiments remain of the former rulers, and, until within a recent 
period, the ' better sort' were in the habit of calling themselves 
patricians, as descended from the Roman families. Napoleon 
disturbed these little fooleries, among a good many others. The 
unfinished Cathedral looms vip from a great distance, as we dash 
away towards Aix-la-Chapelle — brilliant contrast of Cologne — 
which we reach by cars over a dead-level land, covered with 
Nature's richest gold-dust, viz., the golden wheat. Neat as wax- 



AND ACROSS TO WATERLOO. 343 

work, elegaut and white, are the streets of this city. It is one 
of the magnificent bathing establishments of which Germany 
boasts. In some respects it should not boast. Curiosity led 
us to see its famous gambling-hell known as the Redoute. It 
was lit up in royal style. When we went in, a brilliant assem- 
blage were in the conversation-room, listening to a concert of 
Italian music. In other rooms, the tinkling of the Napoleons 
and thalers resounded, while the deep silence was broken by the 
singsong tone of the bankers at the rouge-et-noir and roulette 
tables of the other rooms. We enter. There are loungers on 
elegant sofas. Lamps, shaded with green, light up an elegant 
table, at which a respectable gray head presides, and around 
which the assistants and betters are ranged. As the une, trois, 
cinque, turn up successfully or otherwise, the little rakes busily 
push around the gold, silver, and notes. Occasional betters 
stand up ; the regulars are seated, with knit brows and trem- 
bling hands pricking their memoranda, in vain attempting to 
head the bank, which, however Fortune may smile, must ulti- 
mately, by a surety as demonstrable as Euclid, increase its 
revenues so much per cent. Ladies, finely dressed, were there, 
playing with more sang-froid than the men. One Yankee might 
be discerned, with a flush of good luck upon his cheek, and the 
marks of verdancy in his actions, — the observed of all observers. 
He had begun with a thaler ; was lucky, doubled each time he 
won ; and thus regaining all he lost, he continued to add to his 
store, until it became so cumbrous that he was obliged to, and 
did, in the flurry of excitement, occasionally use his hat as a 
reservoir. Some one observed, in a whisper, that he must soon 
stake his hat ; but, shrewd to the last, he quit with a hat-full — 
enough to pay his way to a land where such gigantic splendors 
of Satan are not; licensed by government nor patronized by the 
rich. 

One cannot leave such a place without the reflection that 
here is a deeper sin than that which tinkles upon the ear and 
glitters upon the retina. To see so much money pass from hand 



344 DOWN THE RHINE, 

to hand, grasped by the trembling fingers of age and the eager 
sweep of youth, or gathered into the coflfers of the bankers, — to 
know that this is the representative of labor, wrung out of the 
soil and the husbandmen of Rhenish Prussia, — ' must give us 
pause.' Comes it from the great estates of the German nobles, 
who flock here to the baths % Is it bled by the patient vine- 
dresser from the terraced hills of the Khine 1 It matters not ; 
whoever thus squanders, does man — suffering man — and aveng- 
ing Grod, disservice and great wrong. 

"What a condemnation of this frivolity frowns from the old 
Cathedral and the town-house of Aix, where Charlemagne and 
the emperors once trod, with no soft and downy step, seeking 
pleasure. 

We visited the Cathedral. Although heartily tired of 
seeing so many churches, we could not leave Aix without a 
sight of the bones of Charlemagne, which are kept here in great 
state, with many other relics — such as the sponge which held 
the vinegar at the crucifixion, the cord that bound our Saviour's 
hands, and portions of the Cross. In the Hotel de Ville, where 
Charlemagne resided, we saw the portraits of Napoleon and 
Josephine. They stand beside that of the great founder of the 
early empire. 

In leaving Aix, you pass through a country once the abode 
of the Flemings, and even yet full of an enterprising manvifac- 
turing people, who worthily fill the places of those early pioneers 
to whom England owes her great manufacturing prosperity. 
Tall chimneys and glowing forges announce the appearance of 
the towns ; wheat-fields divided off by roads shaded with trees 
like those of Lombardy, in long vistas — and pastures filled with 
cattle not confined by fences — attest a splendid agricultural 
country. 

Was it Liege, or some other Belgium city, where the out- 
raged people pitched seventeen of their magistrates out of the 
town-hall windows ; for which they were banished the realm 1 
They found refuge in England, and formed no unimportant 



AND ACROSS TO WATERLOO. 345 

link in the chain of her material progress. Liege was once a 
free city, and acted a daring part in the earlier eras. Occa- 
sionally, an old castle would leap up from the level, as we 
wound along the valley toward Brussels. The villages looked 
oddly enough in their dresses of pure white, with red i-oofs. We 
soon enter upon the fighting ground of Europe, where Marl- 
borough, Wellington, and Napoleon led their armies, and where 
many a brave soldier fell under the iron sleet. 

Busy Brussels — neat Brussels — beautiful Brussels, — why is 
it that I cannot dissociate your fine promenades and elegant 
residences from that field of blood ? Land of laces, — Paris in 
miniature — place of palaces, — splendid Brussels, did ye not 
tremble at the roar of battle, when Europe hung in the balance, 
and Destiny for ever deserted her child? 

No one can visit Brussels without seeing Waterloo ; no one 
can see Waterloo without returning with the impression of awe 
and wonder at the almost superhuman ability and strategy of the 
— vanquished. True, we read on our way the English accounts 
of the battle, the despatches of Wellington, and of that bloody 
miscreant, Blucher ; true, we know that Wellington, at least 
when the Prussian appeared through the woods on the left, 
pressed on to victory ; true, that the English infantry, like 
dogged brutes that fear not death, stood solid at Hougoumont 
and La Haute Sainte, although Jerome Bonaparte stormed the 
former tremendously with twelve thousand men ; and although 
attack after attack was made in quick succession, of which the 
broken walls and burned chateau yet give evidence ; true, that 
the fiercest charge of the old guard, even when victorious, was 
rendered innoxious by the cool audacity of Wellington ; yet, not- 
withstanding all, the impression remains, that the genius of man 
and the brunt of the fighting was with the French. The field 
of the dead — one-third of the allied army thereon lying, pro- 
claimed the dreadfvil thunderbolt which Napoleon hurled upon 
that 18th of Jmae. We visited each point, and saw the whole 
from the monument of the Belgian lion. There is nothing 
15* 



346 -DOWN THE RHINE, AND ACEOSS TO WATEBLOO. 

striking in the field itself. A crescent valley, with two hills, 
each occupied by the foe, within cannon range ; the English 
having all the natural advantages, the French doing all the 
marching and manoeuvring — these are the features of the bloody 
field. The traveller treads curiously over spots where Victory 
waved her ensign, and Death reaped his sanguine harvest ; where 
the hope of conquest glowed in the heart while life's last ebbing 
sands were running. The wheat grows finely now where thou- 
sands fell and mouldered ; the flax, whose elegant warp and 
woof wrought into Brussels lace will adorn the lady in her par- 
lor, springs out of the ground fructified by the blood of the 
brave. After the battle, the richest crops were taken from the 
fields ; and nature even yet struggles on silently to redeem her- 
self from the stains of a mighty murder by the kindest processes 
of vegetable growth. Man may struggle with his brother, and 
lie down upon his gory bed, and he may call it glorious ; but 
Grod wipes away the evidences of such glory by the waving of 
beautiful plains. " Les hommes agitent, but Dieu les mene," 
says Bossuet. " Men agitate, but God rules." Never was there 
a bolder instrument of Providence than Napoleon. His history 
is written all over Europe. All the pages of English vitupera- 
tion, from the most puerile penny-a-liner to the rankest old tory 
or gravest historian, cannot eradicate or tarnish the proud evi- 
dences of Napoleon's greatness. At Naples, in the roads and 
buildings ; at Venice, in the improvements he there made ; at 
Milan, where we were shown what Napoleon did ; at Lisbon, 
where he turned out some eleven hundred lazy priests to clean 
the filthy city ; along the Rhine, where he broke up nunneries 
by the hundred ; in Paris, where I now write almost under the 
shadow of his splendid monuments, are the ineffaceable proofs 
of his utilitarian and exhaustless mind, as it projected works for 
the good of the people, and it must be confessed, for the glory 
of himself His shadow, not himself, now rules here ; yet his 
shadow is more powerful this day in France, than the sunlight 
of her brightest spirits. 



XXIX. 

€}^t Jfxmil) €^M. 

"France, the staple of new modes, 
Where garbs and miens are current goods, 
Prescribes new garnitures and fashions. 
And how to drink and liow to eat 
No out-of-fashion wine or meat. 
And to demonstrate with sufficient reason. 
What ribands, all the year, are in or out of season." 

Butler. 

n^^WO months ago we left this city, to go, we knew not cer- 
JL tainly whither, to return, Providence permitting, hither. 
We have completed the round, — from Brussels we ran over by 
cars to this centre of civilization and gayety, poodle dogs and 
grind organs, Boulevards and promenades, cafes and operas, 
military displays and Sunday fetes, — every thing to divest the 
mind of gravity and invest it with the illusory, the transient and 
the mobile. 

After having arrived here with such expeditious good luck, 
we felt like laying upon our oars and floating down the stream 
of Parisian life, without effort, amidst its ever-following margin 
of gayeties. Youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm, we 
have floated between promenades and gardens, flowers and tem- 
ples, colors and melodies, — every object that excites the eye, 
ravishes the ear, and enfolds the senses in delight. This is 
surface work. It looks pretty and its novelty pleases. Beneath 
the surface of this gay world there lies moral filth and gross 
debasement. Content to fret the surface, we have not stirred 
the depths of the mysteries of Paris. 

The Lord Mayor of London and his train have been here 



348 TEE FRENCH CAPITAL. 

the past week, feasted guests at tlie Hotel de Ville, invited 
visitors to Versailles upon Sunday, attendants upon splendid 
operatic performances, and wondering gazers at the sham battle 
in the Champ de Mars, on the 6th of August. The Circuses 
have brushed up their horses and added new features to their 
bills ; the promenades have been newly trimmed and the palaces 
neatly swept ; the manufactories of Gobelins tapestry, and 
Sevres porcelain, have been freely opened, and a general entente 
cordiale has been celebrated between the " perfidious Albion- 
ites," and the testy Gauls, in which the Juries of the World's 
Exhibition have taken part. In fine, Paris, always a fete to the 
stranger, especially to a Buckeye, has been in a perfect tip-top 
gala ever since the Lord Mayor arrived. 

1. The great Sham Battle. 

We have followed in the wake of the fete, seeing the ebulli- 
tion and hearing the bubbling. A loud noise it made at the 
sham fight in the Field of Mars Fortunately when we drove 
up to the field, we met the Commissary of the Police, who 
readily granted us, as strangers and Americans, a pass through 
the guards at the streets leading to the barriers. He even ex- 
tended to us the courtesy of giving us a whiskered dragoon with 
a big hat, the specific gravity of which was very disproportionate 
to its bulk, by whom we were led through the crowd, and ob- 
tained a place high and aloof, commanding a view of the field. 

The fight commenced with a thunder of artillery ; then vol- 
leys of musketry ; then parties dashed across the bridge and the 
fighting became close and severe, — very, — about our point. 
Soon the whole army, except the reserves, were in action. The 
artillery roared, the flame flashed amid rolling volumes of 
smoke, the bayonets glittered through it splendidly, the cavalry 
in long columns, with ensigns flying, charged hollow squares, 
after the party on one side had driven back the assailants, and 
had in their turn become the assailants. It was a magnificent 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 349 

sight to see the long winding trains of horsemen, forming into 
line and dashing off in glittering style through the cloud of dust 
they had raised ; then, meeting a volley of cannon and guns, 
wheel about and take their old position. During the cavalrj'- 
evolutions, the excitement of the crowd became intense. People 
below us in the street, were hiring fellows to let them have the 
use of their shoulders. Lemonade-men ceased their cries. 
Water-women held their breath ; some of the Parisian " b'hoys," 
or blouses, had obtained boards and were scaling the terraces 
upon which the crowd, who had paid most liberally for them, were 
intently enjoying the spectacle. A real fight ensued ; illustrat- 
ing, in a twinkling, by the interest it created, how much more 
exciting is an atom of earnestness than an army of sham. 

Stationed upon a fine terrace, overlooking the spot, we were 
in the midst of the roar, the smoke, the din, and the — innocency 
of the battle. Eighty thousand elegantly-dressed soldiers, glit- 
tering in the sun, marching in infantry, wheeling and curveting 
in cavalry, manoeuvring with artillery, retreq,ting, advancing, 
detouring, running, throwing bridges over the Seine, carrying forts, 
defending walls, in solid columns, in open order, in hollow 
squares, in videttes, in every imaginable figure and form known 
to the Art of Death, by powder and steel, with trumpets sound- 
ing, cannons flashing and thundering, musketry rolling, and pen- 
nons waving ; all working out upon uneven ground, and finally 
upon the beautiful field of Mars, the problem of the day, and 
that, too, without any other catastrophe than a dragoon hors de 
combat, is a sight ^lat stirs the spirit, while it does not disturb 
the ordinary flow of human sympathy. The idea of the battle 
was this : a hostile force from Passy and the Bois de Bologne, 
which was behind us, move on to take the Ecole Militaire, a 
strong fortress, having the Seine in front. The heights of Chail- 
lot was the spot where the contest waged hottest, where the most 
— powder was spilt. As the smoke rolled away toward the right, 
the assailants were seen to have encompassed by their cavalry 
the infantry, to have silenced by their cannon the opposing ar- 



350 ^'^/A' FEENCII CAPITAL. 

tillex'y ; and to have occupied in beautiful array the field of 
Mars ! Such enthusiasm, such a turn out, never could be found 
in any place but Paris. At least five hundred thousand people 
were on the grounds and heights, on the houses, columns, arches, 
woodpiles, and chimneys. The trees which lined the field of 
battle were full above, and under them was a long mass of peo- 
ple, stretching out at least a mile on either side. As the battle 
progressed, the barriers were removed, and the people rushed 
through in living floods to the scene. The fortress was at last 
taken ; the troops filed ofi" before Louis Napoleon and the Lord 
Mayor, the crowd broke through the barriers and inundated the 
Champs Elysees, where in great packed acres they stood await- 
ing the appearance of the President. He appeared under escort 
of the National Guard, when vivas long and loud went up to 
Napoleon ! The blouses, as well as the better-dressed citizens, 
joined in the universal hurrah ! Universal ? Ah ! there were 
a few brave fellows, who shouted " Viva la Republique !" I tell 
you that this great nation is not republican yet, save in name. 
There is no principle pervading the masses. Their enthusiasm 
is purely p^^rsonal. There is no simplicity, nor love of inde- 
pendence in their movements. Parade, glitter, pomp, and hero- 
worship, is the idea of Parisian society. The government which 
can furnish the greatest quantity of gayety and glitter, in a given 
time, will be, at least for a time, the pet of the people. ' The re- 
volution in manners must precede all other salutary revolutions. 

2. Sabbath at Versaille?. 

Yesterday was Sunday here. I will avouch to its being the 
Sunday of the Calendar ; but not our good old quiet Sunday. 
It was a Paris Sunday, with a few extras. Of course, you would 
not expect us to be so Puritanic as not to see a Parisian Sun- 
day. You might as well attempt to go to Naples without seeing 
Vesuvius, Aix-la-ChapclIc without seeing a gambling-hell, or 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 35 1 

Venice without seeing the. prisons of the Council of Ten. We 
heard there was service at Versailles — Parisian service — so we 
struck for that point. There were some sixty or seventy thou- 
sand bent in the same direction. As it was the first Sunday in 
the month, all the fountains were to play, and, as the fete was 
in progress, the Lord Mayor of London and the Exhibition 
Commissioners were to be there. A railroad dashed us past the 
far-famed palace and park of St. Cloud, into the town of Ver- 
sailles. The town is of little account, though in the time of 
Louis XIV., when Royalty revelled so splendidly, it contained 
100,000 people — one third of which number, only, are there at 
present. The grounds, with their green galleries and beautiful 
fountains, their innumerable statues, elegant orangery, intermi- 
nable walks and flower-gardens, and the palaces, — these make 
Versailles the great resort of the pleasure- loving and the curious. 
Of course, you would not expect, nor could I ever give, such 
a detailed description of Versailles as would reproduce it to the 
mind's eye. After seeing it, one should make his will. It caps 
the Seraglio, beats Hyde Park ; the Luxembourg in Paris is 
tame beside it ; the Brussels promenade is fine, and so is that 
of Naples ; but where, in all our views, have we seen any thing 
comparable to Versailles ? Whether it is the magnificent Place 
d'Armes, rivalling St. Peter's Piazza, guarded by the martial 
valor of France in the colossal statvies of Conde, Turenne, and 
others, and all commanded by the majestic equestrian statue of 
Louis XIV., which is much more striking than that of Marcus 
Aurelius in the Capitol at Rome ; whether it is the great and 
little Trianon, palaces famed in the history of the Queens of 
France, with their magnificent prospects of lawn and wood, 
water-sheets and water-jets, ranges of statuary, gardens of flow- 
ers and marble basins ; whether it is the galleries of paintings 
shaming the Vatican in the richness and taste of their decora- 
tion (indeed Napoleon as King of Italy was as free in his appro- 
priation of Italian art, as railroads are of real estate in Ohio), 
and illustrating in marble the scientific, literary and martial 



352 THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 

genius of the nation, and upon extensive canvas that military 
glory before which monarchs paled and the world trembled ; 
wherever you go, whatever point of view you take, from palace 
window or upon the marble stairway, you are lost in the variety 
of objects, each one a chief in itself, but all arranged for one 
brilliant stroke of the vision over an expanse of area utterly 
inconceivable before by our unsophisticated mind. Addison 
has said, that the sight continues longest in service, aflfording 
for a longer time pleasure and delight, through its inlet to the 
soul, than any of the other senses. We found it true at Ver- 
sailles. Without fatigue or cessation, it ranged from hall to 
hall ; running through centuries, from Charlemagne and Pepin, 
down to Louis Philippe and Charles X., and in the mean time 
taking in all the splendid efforts of art from the reign of Louis 
XIV. and of the Empire. David's pictures of the Coronation 
of Napoleon, and of Napoleon giving the Eagles to the Army, 
fulfilled every anticipation concerning them ; but the chapel, the 
frescoes, the landscape-paintings in which battle-scenes are intro- 
duced, — the wonderful effect of all these in developing, sustain- 
ing, and giving enthusiasm to French^ purely French nationality, 
I had not before any adequate conception of 

It would require but a glance at the painting of the wounded 
Marshal Lannes, with Napoleon by his side, or of Austerlitz 
with the figure of Bonaparte proudly eminent, to give esprit to 
the army of France, such as of old it possessed under its almost 
deified General. 

This palace of Versailles was formerly a hunting-lodge for 
one of the earlier kings. Additions after additions were made, 
millions being expended in their construction, until the Revolu- 
tion, after which it sunk into decay. Napoleon preferred to live 
at St. Germain or St. Cloud. He said that it would take forty 
millions of francs to put Versailles in repair. Louis Philippe 
had it in excellent order. 

Our ladies were curious to see the Trianon, and especially 
the little Swiss cottage erected by order of Marie Antoinette ; 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. ggg 

but as I attempted to go by the soldier — a laughing, good- 
natured fellow, who marched under the signs " Propriete na- 
tionale," and " Liberte, Egalite et Fraternite" — he called out for 
a pass, which I had not provided, and I could effect no frater- 
nization with him, by which to gain my end. 

We saw a great crowd looking at the golden royal coach of 
Charles X., which is considerably laughed at just now. It may 
roll through these arbors and green lanes j^et, with a Bourbon 
in it ; who knows? But hurrah ! here is a rush ! what a crowd 
of Johnny Bulls ; and there they go, after a fine-looking white- 
haired gentleman in very black, who is being led around into 
the orangery by the Prefect of the Seine. The English run 
after, like mad, women and men, fat and lean — mostly fat. 
Aha ! now they are stopped. A French soldier, with ribbons 
on his coat, has run a i-ope across, and the soldiers are trying to 
guard the pass. In A^ain, fat Aldermen's fat wives, perspiring 
like the frogs in yonder fountain of Latona, dodge under, clam- 
ber over, escape outstretched arms, and caper away like kittens, 
after the Lord Mayor. At last the heft (to Yankee it) of the 
crowd is stopped. The rest present tickets, and talk iJenglish 
quite Au.selessly. The pageant has faded. And so has it been 
all day — a chase of English Aldermen, and their consorts, after 
the Mayor, who is hurried along by the Prefect at a good trot. 
It was a scene for Punch. 

We returned home to see Paris by night, in the Champs 
Elysees, Boulevards, Luxembourg, and at the Cafes, where 
concerts, circuses, and amusements of every variety, keep a com- 
pany of two hundred thousand, if not more, constantly on the 
qui vive. One does not know what that phrase means, until 
they see the sights here on Sunday. If there be any churches 
here, Avhat were they built for 1 The question has been answered 
in a former chapter ; they are but mausoleums over the buried 
great, or theatres for the display of festal and regal magnificence. 
They were built for man, not Grod. 



354 ^-^-^ FRENCH CAPITAL. 

3. Pere La Chaise. 

One of the most attractive places of resort in the environs of 
Paris is the Pere La Chaise cemetery. There is a peculiarity 
in the tombs, and a beautiful custom connected with them, well 
worthy of mention and imitation. The cemetery lies to the 
northeast of the city. 

We passed along the magnificent quays of the Seine, crossed 
the bridge, and stopped before the monument erected upon the 
spot where the Bastile of the old regime stood. It is built to 
the memory of those citizens who fell on the memorable three 
days of July, 1830, which dethroned the elder Bourbons, and 
made Louis Philippe " citizen king." The monument is ele- 
gantly surmounted with a gilded image of Victory winged, stand- 
ing with one foot on tip-toe upon a globe, about 250 feet high. 
The image is exceedingly aerial and graceful. It is about the 
height of the majestic column to Napoleon in the Place Ven- 
dome. The latter is modelled after that of Trajan at Rome, 
and moulded wholly out of the cannon and other metallic 
trophies taken in battle by the Emperor. 

Through streets lined with marble stores, and shops where 
funereal wreaths are made, we pass up to the cemetery. Mourn- 
ers stop to buy the wreaths of yellow and white. They are very 
touching, and expressive of kindly sympathy. Little images, 
too, of persons kneeling or mourning are bought, and all are 
placed upon the tombs, either within upon shrines, or without 
under little covers, to keep them from rain or sun. Almost 
every tomb was thus remembered. Very few were without some 
token. Many had flowers growing around and about them, most 
tastefully arranged. How good — how mindful are the French ! 
was the exclamation, as we passed amid these emblems of life 
and decay. The tombs of La Place, of Volney, La Fontaine, 
and of David, the great painter, are here. Most eagerly we 
sought for the tomb of Heloise and Abclard, so renowned in 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 



355 



song and story. They flourished in the twelfth century, and 
were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learn- 
ing and beauty ; but for nothing were they so famous, as for 
their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, 
they retired each to a separate convent, and consecrated the 
remainder of their days to religion. Buried in life thus in di- 
vided graves, they were united in death in the same tomb ; not, 
however, long to rest together, for ecclesiastical power followed 
their dust, and separated it, as it had their lives. But after 
many vicissitudes, they lie side by side, as is beautifully indi- 
cated by the sculptured images under the little Gothic temple 
which affection has reared. Wreaths there were not a few, upon 
thefr' tomb, — touching tributes to that constancy and attach- 
ment which their lives, death and entombment, typified so beau- 
tifully. White roses grow plentifully within the inclosure, 
chaste symbols of a love which death has not quenched, but only 
purified. We plucked one rose as a souvenir of the spot, and, if 
any cemetery may be thus called, of this pleasant abode of the 
departed. 

The Pere la Chaise affords a fine view of Paris, which we 
were enjoying as the bell began to ring, and the watch of the 
cemetery began to cry the hour of departure from the different 
points. Taking a dish of berries and ices at a cafe (every body 
here lives at a cafe), ovir party went to the hotel, and I to the 
Theatre Comique, to see Paris in another phase and hear a funny 
opera. 

Let not the lawyer who visits Paris fail to drive down to the 
Palais Justice, and observe the working of the courts. I spent 
very profitably a most interesting day in listening to the judges 
and lawyers. The latter are the most intelligent and best-look- 
ing gentlemen I have seen in Europe. I know that remark is 
superfluous. Dressed in their black gowns, and black caps shaped 
like the segment of a sugar loaf, — they move about from court 
to court with their briefs in hand, unincumbered with loads 
of authorities and ever ready to meet their cases. I heard 



356 'THE FREXCH CAPITAL. 

a case tried by jury, and noticed many little improvements upon 
our present mode of practice. Their custom of questioning the 
accused shortens the trial, and it seems not at all inconsistent 
with fairness. The repartee even between prisoner and accuser, 
and prisoner and judge, while it excites from its dramatic cha- 
racter, generally shows where. the blame or crime lies. Soldiers 
are always on hand to preserve order and protect the doors. It 
was a sufficient password to say that I was a stranger, in order to 
obtain admittance. There are some eight or ten judges in each 
of the courts. A good feature is, that the lawyers have a grand 
consultation every Saturday, when the poor may obtain gratuitous 
advice. 

4. PAPasiAN Medley. 

Now I know that it is not the province of a transient travel- 
ler, to venture too far in generalizations upon national character 
and prospects. He is liable to make himself ridiculous. I only 
speak of what I have been informed. I have hardly seen enough 
for a respectable induction upon any subject. The proper sub- 
ject of a traveller's pen is the superficial. Of that, — what an 
area has my eye covered ! what multiform objects has it em- 
braced ! Can I enumerate ! The Hotel des Invalides, where 
the veterans upon wooden legs and crutches line the fine walks, 
cultivate their little flower plots, and talk of Napoleon, whose 
remains are entombed within the chapel, where wave two hundred 
ensigns — trophies of his valor from the Pyramids to the Snows ; 
the Louvre, that noble repertory of art, surpassing any of the 
galleries of Italy — being, in fact, the choice selection from them 
all — where Rubens and Vandyke vie with Raphael and Caracci 
for the- palm of genius, where Salvator Rosa and Claude, the one 
in bold outline, the other in mellow Ivistre. reproduce nature in 
her loveliest aspect, where the holiest of beings beams benignly 
from the wall on the canvas of Murillo, and where the German 
Bacchanals drink beer with such a jollity, that the canvas fairly 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 357 

laughs ; the Tuileries with its palace, where Louis Philippe once 
lived with his family, still preserved (with some few marks of 
popular fury) as it was in 1848, when Girardin recommended 
the abdication, which ended in an airing on horseback ; and its 
gardens, which are only rivalled in tasteful walks, manifold 
flower-beds, beautiful fountains, and luxuriant orangeries by the 
Luxembourg, — where the taste of the Medici family is still pre- 
served, notwithstanding Louis Blanc held socialist meetings there, 
and notwithstanding soldiers have rendezvoused in the gilded 
rooms ; the museum of artillery, where the arms of France, from 
the invasion of Gaul down to the last revolution, are displayed, 
including the armor of Joan of Arc, and the delicate festoonery 
of the entrance hall, in the shape of the iron chain which the 
Turks used at the siege of Vienna, to construct a ponton bridge 
over the Danube ; the Jardin des Plantes, where the roar of the 
beasts does not in the least disturb the silent putting forth of 
the fragrant flowers ; where the cedar of Lebanon grows within 
sight of the anaconda's den ; where the delicate tamarind tree 
and flowering magnolia are arranged in the same home with the 
gazelle and rhinoceros ; where geology and botany have their 
halls, and the most disgusting lizard and snake their hiding- 
place ; where all is scientifically arranged, and within whose centre 
is a bower and a summer-house overlooking the whole, and afford- 
ing a splendid view of Paris ; — and above all embracing a Sab- 
bath evening, with its concerts in the open air, its crowded cafes, 
its immense promenades, a 'living and moving mass of blouses 
and monsieurs, fine ladies and mademoiselles in neat caps, the 
amusements, Punch and Judy, cross-bow firing at plasters, bil- 
liards, wooden-horse riding, circuses performing, music playing, 
cat and dog entertainments, children with little balloons, amidst 
glancing lights and spraying fountains, gardens of the rarest 
flowers, and shadows of arched trees, mingled with the everlast- 
ing jabber and gay laugh of the French ; which latter is not the 
least wonderful phase of this city of wonders. But why enume- 
rate, where there is so much to be seen ? There is indeed " but 



358 THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 

one Paris." The world of science, politics, and of luxury, has 
here its heart. Its throbs are great, and penetrate the remotest 
part of Europe, aye, even extending world-wide. 

Yet one cannot but feel that the jaw of destruction opens 
wide to ingulf this city. A few centuries more, and the curious 
traveller may wander along the ruined quays of the Seine, now 
adorned with so many bridges and walls, noting the piles where 
once stood the Hotel de Ville, from which Lamartine held the 
populace enchained by the beauty of his diction and the spell of 
his noble thoughts ; or wondering at the brass column to Napo- 
leon, eternal as his fame, towering up amidst decay ; or at the 
despoiled gardens and palaces of this pleasure-maddened city. 
If the godlessness of a people is any indication of a future, 
imagination may revel in the ruins of the future Paris. May it 
not conceive yon Place de la Concorde, now glittering with 
lights, musical with fountains, and crowded with people, — where 
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were beheaded, — as waving 
with the ripe corn, or chaotic in ruins, like the palace of the 
Caesars? Or may we not rather hope that France, springing 
from the mire of moral degradation, shall rise in the newness of 
a civilization, in which republican simplicity shall walk hand in 
hand with Christian truth ? 

We yesterday visited the tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau, in 
the basement of the Pantheon. France venerates, at present, 
too highly their splendid intellects, to permit her to dissociate 
the effect of their genius from their'glaring vices. On the tomb 
of Voltaire is the following : " II combattit les athees et les 
fanatiques, inspira la tolerance et reclama les droits de I'homme 
contre la servitude de la feodalite." I thought the commentary 
of our refugee-republican-Roman courier most excellent. In his 
tolerable English he said, after reading it : " France built this 
Pantheon to her grand hommes, who wrote for liberty, and — she 
go to Rome to — kill Liberty;" and with a shrug of the shoulders, 
he turned away to read the inscription on Rousseau's tomb : 
" Here reposes the man of nature and of truth ;" not knowing 



THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 359 

how significant of French fate was the sentiment thus graven 
upon the tomb of a man whose life gave the lie to all his beau- 
tiful raptures on truth and virtue. 

The same thing is discernible now, in the public men of 
France. They talk political abstractions in pert, pithy, pretty, 
curt sentences ; but when they undertake to do — Humph ! 
Dominichino would shrug his shoulders again. France needs 
some such men as Lafayette — content to be useful, rather than 
splendid ; practical, instead of brilliant. 

5. Lafayette's Tomb. * 

We thought that we could not do better upon our second 
Sabbath, especially in Paris, than to visit Lafayette's grave. It 
is sought after by few, and these, I am proud to say, are Ameri- 
cans. The coachman could not find .the street, without some 
difficulty. A long ride up the Faubourg de St. Antoine, brought 
us to the Kue de Picpus, upon the outskirts of the city. A 
convent, now occupied by the " Sisters of Charity," and an old 
chapel of Doric, surround the tomb of Lafayette. We walked 
through long arbors of grapes and flowers, amid the tidy-looking 
elderly dames — all dressed in their white dresses and whiter 
bonnets, until we turned into a narrow, treeless cemetery, where 
among the Montmorencies, Rosambos, and other noble families 
of France, reposes the friend of America and of Washington. 
A large slab covers the grave of himself and wife ; and near by 
are the remains of Gleorge Washington Lafayette, his son, who 
died in 1849. The victims of the reign of terror lie around 
them. A few wreaths decorate the bare tomb. A deep and 
solemn quiet, in strange contrast to the ever-rushing tide of the 
streets, reigned within this sacred home. I loved this spot. It 
reminded me of our own simple American graveyards. No 
mark of nobility, no heraldic armor, was engraved upon the 
tomb. No old soldiers are here to guard it ; no lofty column 
rises to the memory of the good and genial Lafayette. But he 



360 THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 

has a monument more durable tlian brass. It is in tlie heart of 
America. As time lapses, we should cherish more deeply, and 
care with nicer heed for, those revolutionary soldiers and patriots, 
who worked out so excellent a constitution, through so much 
difficulty and danger. 

We have no long line of kings to emblazon in splendor the 
historic page, or palaces full of their pictures and trophies ; we 
have no dim old cathedrals, hallowed with the footsteps of 
mighty cardinals and priests, and almost groaning with their 
weight of marble honors ; we have no battles to boast of so 
Scourging and bloody as Borodino and Austerlitz; but we have a 
history rich in spiritual independence, and eventuating in a 
government, which Lord Brougham has truly called, the highest 
refinement in civil polity which the world has ever seen. We 
have in our historic annals the name of at least the purest, if 
not the greatest of Frenchmen — Lafayette ! His remains sleep 
quietly, sequestered among the kindly sisters of charity. No 
revolution will exhume them, as were exhumed the proud kings 
at St. Denis, llespect, if not enthusiasm, and never obloquy, 
will attend his memory. Americans will always delight to 
leave the din of the great city, to search out and honor his 
simple tomb. 



XXX. 

ICniikH;— in ntjitr li^^mtB, 

" These struggling tides of life that soem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 
Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end." 

£ryant. 

WELL, it came over one right goodly, to reach a spot where 
one does not have to call our old homely Saxon words by 
such outre and unaccustomed terms. To say brealfast^ instead 
of " dejeune, monsieur;" to say "how mvich?" instead of that 
everlasting " combien V to feel that you are understood and 
heeded without acting it out like a player, was indeed a relief 

On our ride up to London from Dover, the English country 
did not look so attractive as when we saw it in the beginning of 
June, all fresh and green in its primal garniture. Perhaps the 
scenes which Italy and the Alpine valleys had pencilled and 
laid away in memory's portfolio, detracted from the rural beau- 
ty ; perhaps the fields bared of their grain, and wanting that 
rich, golden yellow which interlaced the fertile vales of the 
Rhone and of the Aar, have contributed to disparage the aspect 
of the country ; and perhaps, our eyes have been sated with na- 
tural views. No matter, London — Lo7%don has lost nothing of 
its attractions by our continental tour. 

There is a kind of incredulity attaching itself to all the as- 
sociations of ancient renown and power, which cling around 
the places wo have visited upon the continent. We cannot 
more than half believe that the Doges of Venice ruled with 
such splendor and power ; that Athens was the theatre of 
16 



362 LONDON,— IN OTUER PHASES. 

such mighty deeds and noble thoughts ; that Monza was the 
glittering capital of ancient Lombardy, with its kings and 
queens ; that the Mediterranean was the scene of crusading 
thousands led by knightly prowess ; that Charlemagne ruled 
along the Rhine with such pomp of empire, enacting deeds of 
high emprise, — all these and other relations of places to history, 
enter like shadows into the temple of faith, and, like shadows, 
soon depart. But when it comes to England — when it comes to 
London, with her bridges and her "Whitehalls, her palaces and 
her Tower, — her historic incidents enter, with a stern, substan- 
tial, ringing step upon the portal, and challenge every form of 
doubt or overcome all incredulity. When to-day we entered the 
Tower, the dai-k and bloody history of England was turned over 
rapidly and tangibly by the wizard of the past, as each object 
aroused its familiar and undoubted chronicle. 

The gateways we found crowded. Presently we purchased 
our tickets for the armory and jewel room. Then we were com- 
pelled to wait until the warder had collected a goodly number, 
when off we marched with him to inspect and wonder. These 
warders are numerous. They are dressed in their ancient cos- 
tume — the same as that worn in the reign of Henry VII. It 
consists of a cap ribboned off gaudily, and a coat in the form 
of a blouse, gilded all over, with a crown on the breast and back 
boldly emblazoned. They are appointed from the army on ac- 
count of their good character. The warder assigned us was a 
fine old Johnny Bull, who had a peculiar fondness for Ameri- 
cans. He lugged me out of the crowd at every turn, to display 
v/hat he considered as much our history as England's. He said 
that he had no doubt that some of our ancestors had walked 
around these places. I hoped that they had not been too familiar 
with some parts of the premises. It made one feel quite antique 
to be guided about these old palaces and prisons by so odd a 
looking personage as our warder. Had it not been for the aspi- 
rate and the want of it in the wrong places, I could easily have 
transported our cockney warder at least into the age of Harry the 



LONDON— IN OTHER PHASES. 353 

Eighth, or have placed him in charge of one of the Fairy 
Queen's castles. 

Many persons wonder why England suifers the Tower to 
stand. Its darkness and gloom, to say nothing of its history, 
are in such bold contrast with the fine structures and elevated 
civilization of the present day, that it seems strange that it has 
not suffered the fate of the Bastile. Hallam has perhaps given 
the best image of the Tower as well as the best reason for its 
preservation, when he says, ' that it seems like a captive tyrant, 
reserved to grace the triumph of a glorious repviblic, and that it 
should teach us (Britons) to reflect in thankfulness, how highly 
we have been elevated in virtue and hajipincss above our forefa- 
thers.' Truly there is a lesson to be learned from its old stones, 
its murderous blocks, its manifold modifications of force, its soli- 
tary cells, its chivalric armors, and its costly regalias — a lesson 
of humility and of dependency upon an arm greater than that 
of flesh ; the lesson taught by the text cut in the prison room 
occupied by Sir Walter Raleigh, which I read to-day — " Be 
faithful unto the deth^ and I tvil give the a croxvne of life /' 

The Tower dates from the Conqueror. Although some parts 
of it look new and lack gloom, yet there are others which have 
that streaked and blackened appearance which the oldest stone 
in northern climes always presents. We surveyed the interior ; 
noted with interest the prison of the seven bishops, whose trial 
Macaulay graphically depicts, and upon whose acquittal, such a 
momentous change occurred in the British dynasty and consti- 
tution ; looked curiously at the famous stone and mortar known 
as the White tower, which performed a star part in the drama 
of the great charter and King John, and which so many of the 
Plantagenets used as a palace and a prison ; and more curiously 
still, and not without a shudder, at the Bloody Tower, which 
tradition and Shakspeare have rendered so horrible, as the scene 
of the suffocation of the young princes, nephews of the Duke of 
Grloster, Richard III. There is, however, considerable doubt 
as to the authenticity of the relation, which makes that part 



364 LONDON— IN OTHER PHASES.] 

of the old pile so horrible. The uuclergrouud compartments 
we did not see. It was enough to mark the Traitor's gate, 
with its portcullis, ready even yet to gnash its grim teeth upon 
the victim as he enters from the Thames, under the stone arch, 
and up the fatal steps ; enough, to recall the great and good 
who have here suffered for popular freedom and religious faith. 

We passed some time in gazing at the kings and celebrated 
men of England, — clad in their own identical armor, and 
mounted upon horseback. They were tastefully arranged in 
what is called the Horse Gallery. The most conspicuous among 
them all was the gross form of that rough brute, Henry VIII., 
and the despicably mean-looking visage of James II. Cromwell, 
Villiers, Stafford, and others whose names are a part of English 
history, were there. Above each king was arranged in stars, 
the peculiar arms of the period. 

We enjoyed the visit to the Regalia room, where the crown 
jewels and crowns are kept. They are worth the enormous sum 
of fifteen millions of dollars — nearly etj^ual to Ohio's state debt ! 
The warder well remarked, that we would, in our country, hardly 
keep so much wealth idle. I told him, that we would apply it, 
perhaps, toward paying off the national debt, especially, if it 
amounted to eight hundred millions. 

We were shown the block upon which Lady Jane Grey, Es- 
sex, and Raleigh suffered, as well as some horrible implements 
of torture. The latter were marked, " captured from the Span- 
ish." I supposed that they were perfectly at home in the Tower, 
if we may rely upon history. Besides, what kind of a war trophy 
would be one of these engines of misery ? What general would 
wish his triumph graced by such an instrument 1 

The crowning interest which belongs to the Tower, is, that it 
has been the prison of those who dared to assert the rights of 
Englishmen, who stood up, in the face of arrogant kings, to pro- 
claim that the people alone had the divine rigid to control their 
own destiny. These brave spirits never suffered the house of 
Tudor or of Stuart to repose for a moment upon a couch of 



L0yi)0N,-IN OTHER PHASES. 365 

roses. Such men as Peter Wentworth in Elizabeth's time, and 
Coke and Sekien in the time of James I., were the true fore- 
runners of the Pyms. Hampdens, and Fiennes of a later day. 
They verified the French couplet, 

Le roi d'Angleterre 
Est le roi d'Enfer. 

" The King of England is the king of hell." And although the 
Tower with its torments awaited them, still, like their transat- 
lantic descendants upon similar great issues, they knew, and 
dared to maintain their pi'ivileges against the royal prerogative. 
One cannot have an adequate idea of the immensity of the 
brick and mortar, known as London, without going up into some 
lofty point, such as the cupola of St. Paul's. Under the smoky 
obscurity there lies far — far arouild as the eye can see, one con- 
tinuous, compact mass of buildings, interpersed with handsome 
spires, and divided by the Thames — upon which is seen, darting 
from pier to pier, the little steamers which ply from Chelsea to 
Greenwich. Paris is easily bounded, Constantinople you may 
take in at one large view, Naples lies along the bay, and in the 
clear air may be comprehended at a glance ; but London, and 

" The villas with which London stands begirt 
Like a swarth Indian, with his belt of beads," 

forms its own horizon of houses, while whole cities lie beyond. 
From St. Paul's, whence we viewed the city, the beautiful parks 
were scarcely discernible ; the new houses of Parliament and 
Westminster arose conspicuously, and the streets about St. 
Paul's, sent up their incessant hum and rattle. 

We have visited the Tunnel of the Thames — a bazaar under * 
a river — that is all. Indeed there are few sights worth a visit, 
which we have not seen. A promiscuous woidd is London, 
with its Zoological Gardens, where we saw the hippopotamus, 
" wallowing; unwieldy," and an orang-outang that looked more 



366 LONDON— IN OTHER PHASES. 

like a human being than some negroes I wot of; with its Noi'thum- 
herland House, where the lion of Percy faces the form of Nelson 
upon his column at Trafalgar Square ; with its Kew Gardens, 
where the tamarind-tree and the bread-plant thrive beside the 
broad-leaved palm and the flowering magnolia, and whei-e every 
vegetable production, from the. cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop 
upon the wall, grows and creeps ; with its ever polite policemen, 
its saucy cabmen, its jostling crowds in which rudeness is taken 
for manliness ; with its great Brewery — how can I forget that, 
after the difficulty we had in attaining an insight — belonging to 
Barclay & Perkins, generally known in America as the place 
of Haynau's disgrace, — but better known as the reservoir of one- 
fourth of the ale and stout of the kingdom. We went through 
the establishment entire. I wondered somewhat at the wine 
cask of Heidelberg ; but found here, one hundred and seventy- 
two larger beer kegs, each one of which holds not less than two 
thousand barrels, and the larger ones, three thousand five hundred. 
The other operations are on a similar extensive scale. Exeter 
Hall preaches temperance in vain, against such a monster. 
Bull must 'ave 'is hale. 

The English are a credulous people. They will believe 
almost any thing of Americans. We took tea with a very re- 
spectable family the other day, and were amused to find how 
much of prejudice and misconception we could remove with 
ease. They believed that we all drank gin-slings and " Tom 
and Jerry ;" that we were every day or so regaled with lynch-law, 
and that " life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," were very 
precarious franchises, especially in the west of America. A 
red-headed doctor, who attended me a while, gave as a reason 
for not going to America the following, after his peculiar style ; 
" Suppose a man's robbed, — by a red-headed rascal ; people mad 
— see my haii* — get a rope — nearest tree — I swing — d'ye see ?" 

The manuscripts of Bacon, Pope, Newton and others, at the 
Museum, we looked at long and curiously. The original Magna 
Charta is preserved there. The Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso, 



LONDON,— ly OTHER PHASES. 357 

is also there, iu the handwriting of Tasso. There too are the 
relies of Nineveh, sent home by Layard, the indefatigable- 
English gold has been potent iu drawing together such a fine 
collection. 

You have heard of Gog, the Roman soldier, and MAaoa. the 
Ancient Briton, who preside over Guildhall, and have in their 
keeping the ancient municipality. Well, we saw the old genii, 
sure enough. Quaint and odd — painted iu divers colors, and 
looking very grandly foolish, stuck up in their corners, — they 
constitute one of the sights of London, never to be omitted. As 
soon omit seeing the Bronze Wolf at the Roman Capitol, or the 
bears at Berne. 

Rain and sunshine alternate here every other hour. The air 
is thus kept delightfully cool. The nights are beginning to 
grow cold. Indeed, we have had plain indications of the approach- 
ing fall. Driving through St. James's Park, we noticed the 
maples already shedding their leaves, and bestrewing the walks. 
Royal parks and American woods own a kindred nature, and 
together obey the great law of decay and growth. By analogy 
we would conclude that the same great law comprehends the 
royal occupants of St. James and the humblest tenant of our 
log cabins, — a simple truth which will bear pondering with 
profit. Death knows no distinction or rank. God knows none, 
save that which distinguishes the pure in heart from the vile. 

What a home for crime and vice is Loudon ! To the travel- 
ler this does not appear so readily. A few hours' observation 
in the Mayor's court revealed more than I could have learned 
by going about the streets for a year. During those few hours. 
a crowd of tattered, miserable beings were lodging their com- 
plaints, or being tried for petty crimes. Police ofiicers were 
bringing in oifenders of high and low degree. They have 
curious and rapid modes of justice here. Immediately below 
the court-room are the prisons, which consist of little wicker 
cages. A trap-door opens, and after tlie manner of Banquo's 
ghost, there arises from below, the prisoner. By his side is the 



368 LONDON— IN OTHER PHASES. 

policeman. The attorney for the city states the charge. The 
judge requests the policeman to give evidence. He thus pro- 
pels : " I found three and a half pounds of tobacco hid upon the 
prisoner's person, after I had asked him if he had any contra- 
band goods, and after he had denied having any. There is a 
duty of nine shillings and threepence per pound, your honor." 

Judge. — •' What have you got to say to this ?" 

Prisoner. — " Please your honor, I gave three shillings for 
it, to send it down to my friends at Ramsgate." 

Judge. — " "Why did you conceal it ?" 

Prisoner — Mum. 

Judge. — " You are sentenced to fourteen days' imprison- 
ment, or to pay a fine of twenty shillings." 

The trap door opens ; exit prisoner, saying, " I gave my last 
shilling for the tobacco ; I can't pay the fine, zur." 

I would have liked exceedingly to have had the privilege of 
visiting the courts of Westminster, but they will not be in ses- 
sion till November. The Old Bailey must repay in part for the 
disappointment. 

I visited the ' Old Bailey ' to see that famous criminal- 
mill grind out a batch of offenders. My friend, the City Soli- 
citor, was on hand at the indictment ofiice, preparing his 
indictments for the Grand Jury ; but he found time to give me 
a prominent place from which to observe the operations. In the 
first court, they were arraigning the newly indicted, which was 
done in droves, classified according to their crimes. The other 
court was more interesting. It moved like clockwork. The 
court-rooms are not so fine as those of the Palais Justice ; and 
I missed the beautiful painting of the Saviour upon the cross, 
which always hangs over the heads of the French judges. 
Neither does the judge demean himself so attentively and 
sympathetically. I did not look for much sympathy in the Old 
Bailey. I would as soon have looked for pearls in a pudding- 
stone. The lawyers sat on circular benches, in whitish curly 
wigs, and gowns. I had no idea that so respectable a profes- 



LOyDON,—m OTHER PHASES. 359 

sion could be dressed up so as to look so assinine. Of course 
they are used to the absurdity ; but is it always to continue ? 
Now it does not look so ridiculous to see the officer of the court 
in a great blue cloak-dress, fringed with furs, and the crier (I 
believe it was) with his sword dangling about a pair of spindle- 
shanks, dressed in tights, while his head was queued and rib- 
boned in gala style ; for these officers " have no discretion ;" 
they are executive — machines. Lawyers are supposed to be 
thinking men, not fantastic harlequins. But there I sat, almost 
choking because I could not laugh, at the grave and gay wigs 
(some looked in the face to be not more than twenty-one years 
of age) which surrounded me. A gentleman thief was on trial 
for stealing a box of silver. He was standing in the dock, 
counterfeiting a tremble, and using a handkerchief to brush 
away imaginary tears. An old wig (I have no respect for men 
who place themselves in such a guise) was trying his best to 
bamboozle a jury that seemed utterly indifferent to every thing. 
If you remember a sketch of the jury that tried Bardell vs. 
Pickwick, by Cruikshank, you will have an idea of this jury. 
Pretty soon the old wig, after having disposed of each tittle of 
testimony, calling it nothing, multiplied them together, and 
produced nothing — against his client, and sat down to his infi- 
nite satisfaction. 

'• My lord," the judge, summed up in a few words : the jury 
leaned over the bench, and without going out (they never go out 
in the Old Bailey), returned a verdict of guilty, almost as soon 
as I can write this sentence ; the judge immediately sentenced 
the prisoner to ten year's transportation. The prisoner asked if 
he could be permitted to use spectacles. A voice (female) from 
the gallery, " My lord, he's blind." " Silence ! " growls an offi- 
cer. That was all the attention shown to the request. Previous 
to sentence, two policemen swear to the prisoner as one of the 
"swell-mob" (genteelly dressed thieves), which did not mitigate 
the sentence. And so they go on. I suppose an ordinary case 
is tried in ten minutes, on which a man's whole life and reputa- 



370 LONDON,— IN OTHER PHASES. 

tion is staked. The court has no more soul than a threshing ma- 
chine, and the bar no more sympathy than is in their wigs. 

What a relief — a contrast, to turn from this harsh home of 
justice, to the silent homes of the great, who are buried in the 
Poet's Corner of Westminster. With what fear and awe are 
we inspired, as we pass over the graves where Campbell and 
Sheridan sleep, to see the monument of Shakspeare — so gentle 
so meek, so graceful, as he stands upon it, with a scroll of his 
own verses about the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces 
of human greatness, that fade, how unlike his own name, and 
leave not a rack behind ! 

All about him are names familiar to us as those of our own 
family, Rowe, Addison, Groldsmith, (" poor Goldy ! ") Southey, 
Dryden, '■ rare Ben," and rarer Samuel Johnson ; but why name 
them 1 Is not this the repository of England's most precious 
dust ? What a spirit speaks from the urns of these princes and 
kings of song ! How silently, through the mighty medium of 
type, does it bear on its pinion the elements of beauty, humor, 
truth and goodness, to make the world purer and holier ! How 
kindly does it bear down to future ages and to the extremest 
parts of the earth, the riches of our noble Anglo-Saxon language ! 
And even now, in the polished poetry of Longfellow, and the 
graceful prose of Irving, is verified, but not to its splendid ful- 
filment, the prophetic rapture of an old English bard, Daniels, 
as he speaks of that language which these mouldering forms 
spoke and wrote : 

"And who in time knows whitlier he may vent 
The treasures of oui' tongue ? To what strange shores 
Tills gahi of our best glory shall be sent 
T' enrich unknowing nations with our stores? 
What worlds in th' yet unformed Occident 
May come refined with th' accents which are ours." 



XXXI. 

€li0 i'Xmi (!?i'fjiliitinE BrnisitA. 



"I would rather believe all the feblcs <>l the Talmiul, tlie Legend and the Alcoran, than 
tliat this universal frame is without Mind!"' 

Loi'd Bacon. 

IT is utterly impossible fur lue even to essay any further ex- 
pression about the Exhibition, which will in the least degree 
reflect its great and little wonders. As I entered it again, the 
same bright and glittering array and the same multiform variety 
marched before me in sections, regiments and battalions, com- 
pletely capturing my senses and depriving my pen of its ordinary 
volubility. I entered with the intention of studying closely 
certain branches, say that of agricultural implements (having an 
intelligent farmer friend, Mr. Buckingham, along), but the short- 
ness of my stay here and the immensity of the objects to be 
studied, admonished me not to undertake so hopeless a work. 
Upon each entrance to the diiferent departments, I have found 
some new modification of a familiar thing, some new principle of 
mechanics, and some additional beauty in Art. The most use- 
ful things that I have seen have been the most beautifully 
finished ; and in this, is confirmed a very pleasant truth. Even 
the locomotive which is marked with a ribbon around its pipe, 
and a card of the prize medal, is a piece of exquisite beauty, 
dazzling as a mirror in its steel and brass, and carved into grace 
at every point where ornament may give grace without detract- 
ing from strength. Is it not ever thus in the mental world? 
Are the sterling and strong metals of thought, any worse for 
being wrought into rich and elegant figures ? Ask Milton, or 



372 ^^^^ GEEAT EXHIBITIONS^ REVISITED. 

Dante, or Bacon, or Shakspeare ? The rich colorings of the 
papier mache, or the exquisitely wrought mosaics of the circular 
tables, lose none of their elegant proportions, because they are 
colored. But the most refined beauty is not that of form or 
color. It lies in the object of the thing judged, and the adapta- 
tion to attain that object. The closer and more facile that 
relation, the more beautiful will be the instrument. A churn, 
simple and unostentatious, worked by a little hand-wheel, but 
partaking of three motions, rotary, horizontal and perpendicular, 
combining at once several forces, including atmospheric pressure, 
and making butter in five minutes with ease, was an object of 
intrinsic beauty, to be looked at with as much pleasure as any 
of those splendid silver-wrought ornaments. 

A steam plough may be mentioned in the same category. 
Behind the locomotive are the rotary ploughs. The resistance 
of the earth they meet with, propels the machine, as the steam- 
boat is propelled by the resistance of the water to the wheel. 
Of course, such an instrument would be entirely useless in the 
greatest part of Ohio, where stumps and roots are yet plenty, and 
where the land is not so light and level, as it is in the greater 
part of England. 

I went thi'ough the agricultural implement department, 
examined what I could, and always left, — wondering at the 
simplicity and the immense labor-saving property of the instru- 
ment studied. 

But there is nothing superior to McCormick's reaping 
machine. I had seen it tried before in Muskingum ; knew its 
peculiarities, and was not astonished that the discerning com- 
missioners awarded McCormick the great prize medal. He 
bears his honor meekly ; says that it will sell much better here 
than in America; because, 1st, it will save more labor here, 
since five men sickle in one day what one man in America would 
cradle in the same time ; and 2d, because the ground is more 
even, and better fitted for its operation. The wages here are 
less by about a half; so that thai will make a difi'erence. The 



THE GEEAT EXHIBITION REVISITED. 373 

reaper has had a good trial and a successful one. Never was 
the Grod-given genius of invention better used, than in furnish- 
ing for man such beautiful appliances for the farm. It helps to 
wipe away the elder curse. It dries the sweating brow of the 
harvest-man, in the moment of golden fruition, when haste, 
anxiety, care, and more than ordinary labor ai-e called into 
requisition to save his grain. If America has not been repre- 
sented in the exhibition by the flaunting silks, embroideries, 
paintings, glass and marbles which other nations so vauntingly 
display, she has much to show of the solid, substantial, and use- 
ful. Her objects will bear study and scrutiny. It cannot be 
expected of her, that she should send over cloths of gold, like 
India and Tunis, nor coronets of diamonds, like Russia. She 
is young in the finer arts. 

" A Satyr that comes staviug from the woods, 
Cannot at first speak like an orator." 

But it can speak some rough, shaggy, natural truths, whose 
virtue lies not in the husk but in the kernel, and which, when 
examined, will show that activity of mind toward beneficent 
ends^i which is the highest reach of all arts. 

America has had her own absolutely necessary work to do 
since she whipped her mother. She has been at home doing it, 
like a good housewife. She has not been gadding about, peeping 
into this keyhole, and stealing into that corner, in order to 
enrich her industrial designs. She has been 

" striifffflina; with the oali 



In searcli of bread and home, lias learned to rive 
Its stubborn boughs, till limbs, once lightly strung, 
Might mate in cordage with its infant stems." 

And, as in the young Hercules the astrologers read the lines 
of after-strength, so in the lineaments of America may now be 
read those of Empire. God has written them, in great moun- 
14* 



374 7'^^^^' OJil-^AT EXIUBITIOS REVISITED. 

tains, rivers, lakes, men and energies, all over the face of the 
Union. 

It seemed to me as if I could read them, in epitome, in the 
bust of Webster, which since I was last here has been added, 
with good taste, to the American dejDartment. Spirit of Phi- 
dias ! would you not take it for a loftier god than your own 
Jove ? How massive the brow, how full of will are the lines 
around the mouth — how commanding, all ! An American, not 
a partisan, is Webster abroad. There was some sting, but great 
truth, in the remark, that Webster was the greatest animal and 
the greatest man in America. His brain, even in its contour of 
marble, tell both. 

By his side is a lifelike model of Oliver Twist, from Ame- 
rica. It is much looked at. I stood by, watching alternately 
the little wo-begone victim of a peculiar state or crust of English 
society, in his tatters and troubles, and the sympathetic old 
women who came up to see and remark upon little Oliver. 
" W^hat a pity, to be sure ! I suppose he has a history, poor 
boy !" He has, old lady, and perhaps part of it has been under 
your own nose. " I wonder if he is not some rich man's son, 
strayed off or stolen by the gipsies ?" and with such-like commen- 
taries upon the image of him whose history is far more familiar 
in America than in England, they pass unreflectingly by. 

I examined with great care the Chinese rooms. They re- 
ward the care. Specimens of rare jars and paintings, together 
with most elaborate ivory carvings, do the Chinese justice, I 
trust. They are a large nation, and should be well represented. 
Besides, they have begun to fight and bestir themselves lately; 
and who knows but that the Celestial feet may, under destiny, 
be leading silently towards the temple of the Union, for that 
annexation which their friends across the Pacific enjoy ? Some 
of their maxims, which are blazoned boldly in their rooms, 
bespoke for them a worldly wisdom worthy of annexation and 
Poor Richard. For instance : 

" 1. Let every man sweep the snow from before his own 



THE GREAT EXHIBITION REVISITED. 375 

door, and not busy himself about the frost on his neighbor's 
tiles." Confucius ! how that hits some men ! 

" 2. The ripest fruit will not fall into your mouth." Frank- 
lin ! how that meets your approval ! 

'• 3. Dig a well before you are thirsty." The Spartan's bre- 
vity, and Solomon's wisdom ! 

" 4. Water does not remain on mountains, nor vengeance in 
a great mind." A lofty thought gushing down a mountain 
mind ! 

In going through the Exhibition, there attaches to many 
departments an added interest, because we have seen the natives 
at home in their workshops, attaining the results here so mag- 
nificently alluring. At Brussels, for instance, we saw the Flem- 
ish girls making their fingers fly, as they leaned over the pillow 
upon their laps, with the pattern pricked into black paper, tacked 
to the pillow, and the paper full of pins, around and across which 
they were passing, with rapid skill, the numerous little linen 
spools of thread, to form the elegant figures and delicate tracery 
of the richest laces. At Grobelins we saw the tapestries slowly 
evolving from the massive loom. At Rome, we saw the mosaics 
grow into beauty and life under the patient hand of the artist. 
At Genoa, we beheld the filigree-goldsmiths educing forms of 
light grace out of the silver. At every turn we see objects that 
we have seen in bazaars for sale, and forms and figures whose 
prime originals dwell in everlasting freshness upon the marbles 
of the Acropolis or the walls of Pompeii. 

But in seeing all here in one vast repertory, we possess the 
pleasure of comparison^ which is the greatest provocative to 
remembrance, and the greatest hindrance to intolerance ; for 
where there is so much to be seen and studied, spurs to memory 
are needed, and intolerance has been as virulent, at times, in 
art and science, as in politics and religion. The great object of 
this exhibition has been to break down the contracted barriers 
of intolerance and nationality, so that industry may fraternize 
and the people be elevated. England will receive an immense 



376 ^'^^^' GREAT EXHIBITION REVISITED. 

pecuniary benefit from the Exliibition, no doubt ; but this was 
not the primary intention. Her artists and artisans will glean 
much from these displays wherewith to enrich her future. This 
was one of the professed objects of the Palace, but not its high- 
est. The highest object was the cultivation of international 
good-will. The people of Europe cannot lose by this. The 
despots may. Foreign wars have been often used by tyrants to 
inflame national prejudices, so as to repress the better feelings 
of independence and liberty. The foreigners who visit England 
must go home with new ideas of their own about civic wants 
and oppressions. And although there is nothing in war I do 
not detest, yet when begun by a people against old, irresponsible, 
hereditary powers, the heart would desire its bloody continuance 
until every symbol, form, and ofiicial instrument of power were 
exterminated, root and branch. I pray God that such a war 
may come. It is the only %vay — steel and powder — the only 
way of unloosing the gripe of the Austrian and Russian, and I 
may add of the Fi-ench, upon the liberties of Europe. Peace- 
societies may preach and sing psalms till doomsday ; but the 
arch-scoundrel of Naples and the petty princes of Germany will 
laugh and hold on. International wars may Heaven avert, and 
turn the bayonet and cannon against the palaces, castles, and 
forts, built by robbing tyrants to intimidate, so as better to 
prey iipon, their own people. 

They talk of turning the Crystal Palace into a Winter Gar- 
den. The plan is disapproved of by many, but approved of by 
more. Its image has become so familiar that it can be illy 
spared. It has been infinitely reproduced. Boys cry it in the 
streets: "'Ere's the Crystal Palace on a medal, or on a breast-pin, 
or on a card, /ionly a penny — 'ave one, sir?" All the print-shops 
show it, in every size and color and mode of art. It has had a 
long season, and meanwhile it has taught many a severe, many 
a delightful lesson. This one truth it teaches above all othei's, 
that the effluence of Deity — the subtle mind of man — has powers 
of insight and apprehension that can never cease to mould its 



TEE GREAT EXHIBITION EEVISHED. 377 

images and produce its results. Immortality must be the goal 
of such creative i^ower, and shall not that immortality find repose 
at last in His presence, who delighted in the works of His own 
hands, when he saw that they were good, and whose Palace, from 
everlasting to everlasting, more crystalline than light, is eternal 
in the heavens ! 



V 



XXXII. 

Whim Irrnrs nnii Iprti 

" There is an old tale goes, that Ilerne, the Hunter, 
Sometime a keeper here in "Windsor forest, 
Dotli all the winter time, in still midnight 
Wallc round about an oak, with gi-eat ragged horns." 

Shal:ipeare. 

I MUCH prefer the railroad route up the valley of the Thames, 
past Richmond to Windsor, to any other ride in the environs 
of London. A whole day must be given to it at the least. Cars 
leave Waterloo bridge station almost hourly, and before you 
are aware of it, you are ushered, by the unpoetical steam-car, 
through Windsor Forest, where Heme the Hunter took his 
round, and where the fairies danced in the jocund moonlight to 
plague Falstaff for his sins. 

The railroad station is under the shadow of the Castle ; which 
is a congregation of towers and buildings of stone somewhat an- 
cient — some of them even dating back fo Ca;sar, but fitted up 
with every comfort for the residence of the Queen, who delights, 
it is said, to retire here. 

We easily obtained admission to the halls and reception 
rooms of the Castle. The portraits of the Stuarts, especially of 
the unfortunate Charles I., and his family, by Vandyke, are 
fine artistic pieces, more admirable than their power-besotted 
originals. The line of heavy Dutchmen (always excepting the 
bright and manly form of William III-), who followed the 
Stuarts, hung upon the walls of the splendid dining halls. Ele- 
gance, taste, and richness, beyond comparison with any thing ex- 
cept Versailles, arc displayed throughout the apartments. The 



WINDSOR SCENES AND SPORTS. 379 

object of all, the Queen herself, had just left Windsor for the 
Isle of Wight, where the yatching season is opening. 

We rode up in the cars, with the India-rubber man to the 
Queen. He was visiting the riding-school to line the riding-rings 
with India-rubber. " Why ?" do you ask ? As an Englishman 
would say — " Don't you zee, — Hif an 'orse kicks and naakes a 
sound, he kicks again. Hif he kicks hindia-rubber, don't you 
zee, he makes no sound. He don't kick again. The 'orses are 
spirited and high kept. They never kick twice at hindia-rubber. 
Don't you zee, zur ?" The transcendentalism of the above, I 
would love to enlarge upon. The Queen and her children prac- 
tise daily in the riding-rings at Windsor, and extend their drives 
through the adjacent parks. 

From the towers or from the tei-race there is one of the 
grandest views in England. Twelve counties can be seen. Eton, 
in neat Gothic, and white compared to the buildings of the me- 
troplis, the nursery of the greatest and best of England, lies im- 
mediately below. Slough, where Gray is buried, and the church- 
yard in which he composed his elegy, are plainly discernible. 
There is intervening and every where filling up the view, the 
greenest, goodliest English landscapes we have yet admired. 
The Royal relatives, including the Queen's mother, whose wealth 
has been unsparingly bestowed to decorate these vales and hills, 
reside in the precincts of Windsor. 

But what immense area is that, stretching over 6,000 
acres, measuring a circuit of 48 miles, interspersed with the lime, 
chestnut, beech, holly, fir, and oak ? — None other than the Wind- 
sor Forest, upon whose domain we intrenched when we entered 
the tower below. Look down the green lane, miles long, known 
as Queen Anne's walk, and terminated by a colossal statue of 
George III., — with its triple roads, and you will see a part of 
our magnificent drive to the Virginia Waters. These waters 
lie on the other side of the forest ; consequently we shall have a 
ride through the fairy-haunted greenwood. 

But before we go, let us give a few thoughts to that dim elder 



380 WINDSOR SCENES AND SPORTS. 

clay, wliicli arose with Chaucer, and beamed upon these leafy 
walks and gray battlements. It was here that our Helicon's 
first stream gushed in its own native and rugged simplicity. 
Irving visited here in the genial month of May, when the birds 
twittered musically in the groves, and wrote his sketch of the 
Royal poet — James I. of Scotland — who was imprisoned for 
many years of his youth, by Henry IV. in the castle. While 
a prisoner, he fell in love with one of the maidens of the court, 
and poured forth his plaint like a caged nightingale. But 
his song is but a tiny voice in that grand choral harmony of 
English bards, whose leader, Chaucer, trod these very paths, and 
attuned his lyre under these gnarled oaks. Well has Campbell 
sung of Windsor and Chaucer : — 

" Should thy bowers in ivied ruin rot, 
There's oue, thine inmate once, whose strain renowned 
Would interdict thy name to bo forgot. 

He led the way 

To welcome the long after-coming beam 

Of Spenser's light and Shakspeare's perfect day ! " 

To read the quaint old bard, somewhat grimly smiling, as it 
were, through a rusty visor, — to catch the genuine humor and 
natural poetry of his soul, as he tells his tales of Canterbury, — to 
do this, without visiting Windsor, is a rare joy ; but to re-read 
Chaucer, after having seen his haunts, — well, wait till the bright 
fire snaps in the winter evening, when we have our gown and slip- 
pers on, with the Avind whistling bleakly ; methinks, then, these 
scenes of to-day will help to open the chambers of fancy, light 
the flame of imagination, and bid the Old Muse sing with heart- 
iest song. 

These grounds of Windsor were the favorite residences of 
the Georges — kings of England. How much time, care and 
money has been bestowed by them in introducing Virginia Water 
into the park ! It was formed when the Duke of Cuifiberland, 
the hero of Culloden, resided in the large red maze of building, 



WINDSOR SCENES AND SPORTS. 381 

wherein the hounds of Prince Albert were baying deep-mouthed 
when we passed : and it is the largest artificial piece of water in 
the realm. The streams of the neighborhood are collected into 
a basin, which is adorned and margined in its winding pictu" 
resqueness with leafy copses, and a velvet sward. Our grassplots 
do not give one the idea at all of that velvety, spongy smooth- 
ness which I mean, when I speak of the English lawn. A dark 
glen or ravine receives the water — after it falls in a cascade 
of some twenty feet. Around are by-paths, inviting the foot to 
wander at pleasure, through every variety of shade. The trees 
are none of them so high as our best forest trees, but they have 
the tough old venerableness that Chaucer loved, an-d the neat 
trim of architectural beauty. Where clusters of them occur 
they are arranged so as to form one top, with happy effect. Deer 
in great herds crop the grass or sleep under the shade. But 
their timidity has been long lost. The approach of the stranger 
excites no attention — no quivering nostril, wild glance or swift 
bound into the covert. Six thousand deer people the park, to 
say nothing of other game — plenty as blackberries, kept for 
Prince Albert's peculiar pastime. 

It was one of the finest walks conceivable to leave the car- 
riage and stray along Virginia Water. A man-of-war, flaunt- 
ing the flags of all nations, lay upon its tranquil bosom — a 
present to the late Queen Adelaide. Lovers were sauntering 
most lovingly, and as Yellowplush would say, ' Oh ! 'ow 'appily,' 
along the sward. Swans were swimming along the verdant mar- 
gin. A little distance from the bank we found the Grecian 
temple in ruins ; an excellent imitation of the temple of Jupiter 
at Athens. Shelley loved to meditate amidst these witching spots, 
and perhaps here drank in the spirit of that Beauty which in- 
formed his Muse. He resided in the little village of Bishops. 
gate near by, itself surrounded by every allurement of rural 
loveliness. 

The royal Consei'vatory is in the midst of the forest, still 
kept in royal style, affording a resting-place for the Queen when 



382 WINDSOR SCENES AND SPORTS. 

she airs in these woods. Prince Albert has a farm of 500 acres 
in the midst. It looked as neat as a model. The hay was put 
up as smoothly as if it were to remain for ever. The stock con- 
sisted of a large variety. I should venture out of my sphere if 
I undertook to tell about farms and their appendages. Silence 
is discretion. There is a horticultural phenomenon in the for" 
est at the Belvidere worth naming. It consists of one grape- 
vine, off of which was gathered last year over twenty-three hun- 
dred pounds of grapes. But under cover. Oh ! bless you — if 
Apollo had not had a glass medium he could not have hit, 
with his quiver of beams, old Bacchus so plump in the eye, — 
not in England at any rate. 

One may ride 101 miles in this park over the most beautiful 
road, and surrounded by the most grateful prospect. Yet of the 
6000 acres here, only 500 answers Grod's law. Five thousand 
five hundred acres will have a poor account to render in their 
day of judgment. It will not do then to say, " Poetry and 
beauty required of us our service and our shades. Royalty 
wished to press our smooth velvet sward, excluded from the 
vulgar gaze. Aristocrats delighted to drive down our green 
lanes in fine coaches with arms on them, to indulge flimsy rap- 
tures upon the scenes they could not comprehend in their deeper 
significance. Fairies had their favorite resorts upon 

"The bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 

"Where cowslips and the nodding violet grows, 
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine. 
With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine, 
Where slept Titania." 

Inquisition will be made for the English poor, and the inquiry 
will be. Why were these, His own image, famished, while a few 
— in His eye — no better, are suffered to lord it over such an 
immense area of bread-growing soil, in search of an antidote to 
ennui? I believe with Emerson, in the idea of compensation, 
and would carry it somewhat into the after-life. 



WINDSOE SCENES AND SPORTS. 333 

The Merry "Wives of Windsor, as Sliakspeare draws their 
characters, were never great favorites of mine. I should not 
put them down as patterns of domestic sobriety, nor of delicate 
refinement. They would have been unfaithful to the idea of the 
comedy, had they been so. They would, according to my ob- 
servation, have belied their locality, had they been otherwise. 
The day we visited Windsor happened (how fortunate !) to be 
the anniversary revel of the Bachelors of Windsor. Of course, 
I had a fine chance to see the merry wives. Indeed, I did not 
see a soul that was not a little cracked with the glee of the day, 
except those who had been stupefied with too much " sack." 

I looked into, it may have been, the Garter Inn, to see where 
Sir Jack drank sack, and Dame Quickly gossiped ; but I only 
saw a crowd of revellers dancing to a fiddle ; the young fellows 
with long clay pipes in their mouths, shuiHing the sandy floor, 
with red-cheeked, flaxen-haired country damsels. 

The revel was established many years ago, by a rich lady, 
who bequeathed a sum of money and the ground, in the very 
midst of the town, for the sports. These consist of the old Eng- 
lish games, and they are conducted on the old principles. When 
we went on the ground, some such scene as the following was 
presented. About twenty thousand people were standing in and 
around the side hills, overlooking the rings, stage and booths. 
The folk in our vicinage were holding mugs of ale and stout, 
with a noisy hilarity as gross as that of the ugliest villein in the 
time of the Conqueror. Soldiers and policemen were numerously 
interspersed. 

Flaxen heads were uncovered in dishevelled riot. The " mer- 
ry wives" are by no means idle or unconcerned. They were 
moving among the crowd, enjoying the rude brutality of the 
hour. The stage was the great object of interest. Two flaxen 
heads upon it were woolling each other, and trying to trip. A 
shout announced the result in a fall. Another shout announced 
a tumble of both off the stage. Again they are at it ; the tall 
one, who is a Northumberland man (says our driver, who knows 



384 WINDSOR SCENES AND SPORTS. 

the peculiarities of skill), gives the lesser one a jerk, which flings 
his coat over his head, and while blinded, he gives him the 
soundest fall, amid shouts of merriment. In the mean while, 
wooden horses, circular boats, and other riding establishments, 
in the shape of overshot wheels, are gyrating. Dancing, and 
Punch and Judy, with other entertainments, enliven the booths. 
Chimney-sweeps are climbing the three greaned poles near the 
stage, in vain — the oily lubricity of the poles is too much for 
them; and amid derisive cries, they slide down. At last one 
skilful fellow attained the top, and the noise became deafening. 
Next came the game of whipping the ball out of the hole. A 
half dozen are blindfolded. They have long whips with sharp 
crackers. When the ball came out, the signal was given by an 
officer, when the blindfolded began most severely to whip each 
other. Ha ! ha! haw ! in hearty great guftaws, rung from side 
to side. The damsels, all crimson, left their partners in the 
rustic dance, and rushed out to see. The mugs were dropped 
— the stupid, beer-besotted fellows in white overshirts, open 
their eyes. " Gad ! Tommy ! 'ow the little one catches it ! 
Don't they lay it on right soundly, man? Hoorah !" This 
brutal game of the ball is repeated. It seemed to be one of the 
most approved sports. We had been too late to see the cricket, 
and other matches. But we saw enough to know that it was 
rightly named the Windsor revel. 

The corporation of Windsor, to their honor, have tried every 
means in their power, which included a strong litigation, to get 
rid of this revel. They have tried to build roads OA^er the place. 
They are gradually encroaching on the spot. But the Bachelors, 
who belong to a most ancient order, take great pride in these 
sports, and have resisted successfully every encroachment upon 
their prescriptive rights. Besides, the Queen gives ten pounds 
for it, and her mother a considerable sum. 

In passing out of Windsor, we drove by a magnificent equi- 
page, with liveried servants, within which was seated a maiden 
lady named Miss Harvey Bonnell, the owner of a large estate 



WINDSOR SCENES AND SFORTS. 385 

in the vicinage, with an annual income of $150,000. She was 
dressed in the style of Queen Anne, consisting of a great white 
ruff, and a black hat with black ostrich plumes, which waved 
finely as she bowed to us from her carriage. The lady from 
whom she inherited the immense estate wore the same costume, 
and her devisors had the same habit. We would commend the 
style to the attention of our countrywomen, as we understand 
that novel modes of dress are in (|uest among them. The repu- 
tation of Miss Bonnell is that of a sane, charitable, noble lady. 
She is a peculiarity worth notice. Her residence is beauti- 
fully situated amidst her elegant grounds, and is a peer even 
among the royal abodes. 

But we must hasten to London ; congratulating ourselves on 
having seen so much of the present and the past, and on our way 
drawing conclusions not at all unfavorable to the decency, good 
sense and humanity of the American yeomanry, compared to the 
'• revellers" of Windsor. 



17 



XXXIII. 



" What needs my Shakspcavc for his honor'd bones ? 
The labor of an age in piled stones ; 
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid 
Under a starry-pointing pyramid ? 

Thou our taney, of itself bereaving, 

Dost make us rnarhle with too much conceiving ; 
And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.'' 

Milfoil's Sonnet. 

MORE than a week had we been at London, studying it from 
the little boats which fret the Thames ; from the top of 
the omnibuses that meander through its winding streets ; from 
St. Paul's cupola ; from amid its gardens and parks, its palaces 
and courts of justice ; endeavoring to see every phase of that 
stirring life called London, and of that strangely industrious 
and perseveringly active race from which we derive our habits, 
our laws, and ourselves. Of all the people I have yet seen, if I 
had to have an ancestry (which is exceedingly uncomfortable 
sometimes to some people, especially if it happens to run back 
into a shoemaker or a tailor), I would prefer our own Anglo- 
Saxon stock. It is a shaggy old oak, rough, intertwisted and 
stubborn ; but it spreads a large and gracious umbrage, and is 
destined to spread still, a larger and a better shade. The 
French are too much like their own tall, military-looking, top- 
plumed poplars, constantly bending to the lightest breeze of 
fickleness, and. only affording slim lumber with the best of 
sawing. 

One thing noticeable among the English is, that they care 



A VOy—SHAKSPEAKE' S llOME. 387 

more for their physical frames than their descendants in 
America. We are worn-out, when they are fully matured. 
Climate has much to do with this, but habit more. An English- 
man hardly ever dies. I went down into Hampshire to look 
after the estate of an old gentleman, whose friends in America 
thought that he ought to have been dead long ago. On making 
inquiry, everybody knew him, he had lived so long, and asked 
me. in retuim, if he was not the " great cricketer." That is the 
secret. Manly exercise and constant care had rendered his old 
age as vigorous as a man in our country would hardly be at 
forty-five. 

We bid London good-bye yesterday morning, and are here 
in Shakspeare's home, by thy willowy marge — Oh ! Avon ! 
Running to Coventry, famous for some of FalstafiF's military 
operations, if I remember rightly, we left the main trunk 
of the railway and glided into Kenilworth, whose castle 
Scott has saved from ruin by his incomparable novel ; then to 
Warwick, where the old earls of that name, the " King Makers," 
in the earliest eras of English history, resided, and where an 
earl of the same title now lives. We stopped to see its exte- 
rior ; and taking a fly, ran over a fine road commanding an ex- 
cellent view of the rolling fields of Avon vale. The harvesting 
was almost over. Poor women were gleaning the fields, and 
farmers and their men were getting in their wheat. The Avon 
is not much larger than one of our creeks. Its banks are low 
and shaded with willows, which mark its course as it winds 
through the green meadows, until it passes through Stratford. 

Our first visit was to the house where Shakspeare was born ; 
a rude, half-cottage, upon one of the principal streets of the 
town, easily discernible by its unique and aged appearance. It 
bears an antique sign — " The Irimortal Shakspeare was 

BORN IN THIS HOUSE." 

A tidy old lady, who takes care of it for the Shakspearean 
Society, to whom it belongs, welcomed us ; and showed us the 
room where the immortal Bard first caught the light and breath 



388 -i VOX,—SHAIu^Pj!:AEE':i HOME. 

of life. It is a little room with low ceiling, all scribbled over, 
black with names, among which is the autograph of Schiller. 
The name of Walter Scott is also sL^wn, cut by himself upon 
the glass window. 

Not a descendant of the Bard remains. It was enough to 
have had such offspring as Macbeth, Lear and Othello. His 
dust reposes in a church of the town, which we reached under a 
canopy of green trees. The original bust in stones said to have 
been taken from the Bard himself, is there. There is no ques- 
tion about its being a likeness, not a fancy-piece. It was origi- 
nally colored and painted, so as to resemble Shakspeare ; but 
Malone, the commentator, had it painted over white, for which 
meddlesome work he has been greatly censured, — and to have 
punished whom Charles Lamb longed to have been a contempo- 
raneous justice of the peace in Warwickshire. Underneath an 
old slab lies the body, which has never been removed ; mankind 
kindly heeding the spirit of the inscription, composed by the 
poet himself; 

" Good friend for jesus' sake forbear 
to dig the dttst inclosed heare, 
Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones 
And curst be he yt moves my bones." 

liis family reside in their narrow homes near him. His daughter 
Susannah, has this (|uaint inscription upon her slab : 

"Witty above lier soxe, but that's not all 

Wise to Salvation was good Mistris Hall, 
Sotnetliing of Shakspeare was in that, but this 

Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse. 
Then, passenger ha'st ne'er a tear, 

To weep with her that wept with all ? 
That wept, yet set herself to cheer 

Tlieni up with comforts eordiall, 

Her love shall live, her mercy spread, 

When thou lia'st ne'er a teare to shed. 



AVON— SIIAKSP FARE'S HOME. 389 

Right touching and gentle — is it not ? 

But we must leave tl^ese sacred precincts, to wander forth 
into the green lanes where the youthful poet wandered, and 
where he developed that faculty divine, by which he swept 
the realm of song with an all-potent sceptre. Through pleasant 
ways by thatched cottages, along hill-sides and down vales, we 
reached the spot where Shakspeare's young heart thrilled and 
trembled many a time and oft ; for near that cottage by the road- 
side, where the peas and corn now grow within the hedge, he 
was wont to see his Anne Hatheway. Within lived old John 
Hatheway, whose beautiful daughter the poet espoused. Imagi- 
nation could run wild in picturing scenes hereabout, with 
Shakspeare for the hero ; but most, it loves in this rural spot 
to paint him as the gentle Shakspeare, 

' "Fancy's child 



Warbling his native wood-notes wild." 

Nine miles from Warwick are these localities which are so 
rich in memory. Over a lovely landscape winds the large and 
shaded road — a landscape, ever fringed with green hedges and 
yellow with the abundant harvest. The people of this region I 
liked. They seemed affable and gentle, compared to the ordi- 
nary rude and rough people to be met with around London and 
Windsor. An Englishman generally acts as if he thought it 
extremely feminine to move out of the road or show a civility. 
Ladies are to him, apparently, objects upon which he may 
exhibit his characteristic rudeness. Of course there are excep- 
tions to this ; but we have found them rare. In Italy or 
France we have never known an incivility. But here, from the 
porters of public places, the drivers of omnibuses, and from 
the officers of the railroads, we have received a nameless gruff- 
ness, which may be accounted manliness, but which is certainly 
ill-breeding and gross impudence. The policemen are conspicu- 
ous exceptions. From them one may learn every direction, with 
the utmost blandness and good nature. In Turkey, in Greece, 



390 -4 VON,— SHAKSF FARE'S HOME. 

in Italy and France, and especially in Switzerland, we have 
found our guides and waiters always pervious to good humor, 
aiid exceedingly apt at joking and pleasant conversation — ever 
ready to understand and join heartily in a laugh. Not so in 
England. There is a sort of pseudo-dignity which renders each 
good-humored sympathy as much feared as poison. Sam Wel- 
lers are rarcc aves. Honest, credulous, pompous Pickwicks are 
common. They are ever ready to receive with implicitness 
the most improbable story, if it is out of their sphere, which 
consists of an experience in English breakfasts and dinners, and 
reading the Times. Far better informed about England is our 
population, than the population of England about America. 
The ordinary people want to know if we have telegraphs and 
railroads ; and when informed of their extent in our country, 
receive the information with the amazement and the implicit 
reliance which a revelation from Heaven would engender. 
Several times we have been the object of special wonder because 
we spoke English like one of themselves, and because we were 
— white ! 

It is no uncommon subject of merriment among Americans, 
that even well-educated Englishmen have frequently asked the 
most unsophisticated questions in relation to our society, its 
lansuage and customs. 



XXXIV. 

51 §knn nt Srrlnnlr. 

" The grave abound iu pleasantries, the dull iu repartees and points of wit." 

Addison. 

IT would be ungracious in the extreme to suffer the fatigues 
of a voyage from America, and return without a glimpse, at 
least, of Ireland. We have devoted, therefore, the last ten 
days of our stay to a circuit which includes Dublin and Belfast, 
and extends into Scotland. 

We awoke at Kingstown, Ireland, this morning, the 24th of 
August. Hurriedly dressing, we rushed out of the boat, for 
the Dublin cars. It was raining. Not being perfectly awake, 
I did not perceive the state of the weather, until some broth of 
a boy, with a carriage, shouted, ' Sure, and is it the likes of you 
that will let your leddies walk in the rain V while another, a 
porter, suggested to my companion : ' An it's you that's so well 
dressed, that you will not carry your own portmanteau?' I felt 
sure that I was in Ireland. 

Dublin town is remarkable for nothing, unless it be a fine 
park, wide straight streets, an elegant custom-house, brick 
houses, and a monument or so. The shoeless women and tatter- 
ed children to be seen in the streets bespeak the truth, that Ire- 
land is indeed wedded to poverty. A great many persons from 
too much zeal in Protestantism, attribute all the misery of Ire- 
land to her peculiar religion. The mischief lies deeper, — in the 
tenure of the soil. No one can travel through the Catholic coun- 
tries which we have seen, especially those in Switzerland, and con- 
clude that Catholicism, in and of itself, tends to produce pover- 
ty, or that it is not favorable, when left free and pure, uncoH' 




392 ^ (GLANCE AT IRELAND. 

nected with politics, to the growth of manliness and virtue. 
A more generous and a nobler people never lived than some of 
those Alpine Catholics. The same may be said of some parts 
of Germany. At Heidelberg, we found the pleasing anomaly 
of Catholic and Protestant simultaneously worshipping in the 
same church. The people there seem pervaded with the gentle 
tolerance of Melancthon, who was educated at Heidelberg Uni- 
versity. What a shame it is. that the people of Ireland are not 
permitted to enjoy their own religion with the same freedom 
with which the Protestants of England enjoy theirs. 

Catholicism is as much the religion of the Irish ^^fc^/Ve as 
Protestantism is that of England. For years its enjoyment, 
under such officers and in such modes as they might see fit, has 
been guaranteed. Even the English Lord-lieutenant has ad- 
dressed the Catholic primates, by the titles which they have here 
assumed, and has sent soldiers to guard their assemblies from 
disturbance ; when, all at once, on the pretext afforded by Car- 
dinal Wiseman's case, these titles are declared illegal, as well in 
Ireland as in England ; and penalties enacted against those 
who wear them, as if they were in a horrible conspiracy against 
the majesty of Victoria. How magnanimous this, most truly ! 
What if the Roman cardinals be corrupt, as no doubt they are ; 
what if English Protestant worship be hardly tolerated at 
Rome ; what if the good-hearted Pope issues his rescript ? Is 
there any danger herein to the English hierarchy % and if there 
were, shall the Irish clergy be placed under ban and penalty 
therefor, especially after so long an encouragement ? Into what 
dilemmas and absurdities will not a nation run, that does not 
strictly adhere to the most unlimited toleration, or that connects 
its civil with its religious establishment. A great meeting of 
Irish clergymen and people, has lately been held. There is but 
one spirit breathing throughout their pr oceedi ngs, — united re- 
sistance to this imexamplcd aggression./ England could not 
render Ireland more ungovernable by any other act than that 
of the last session about the ecclesiastical titles, for it strikes 



A GLA^'C£ AT IRELAND. 393 

at her religion — the most sensitive part of every society.) Let 
resistance, strong and steadfast, be made ; and let the American 
people. Catholic and Protestant, sympathize in a movement 
whose object is to resist the most miserable intolerance that has 
disgraced the English statute-book since the time when Dissen- 
ters and Catholics alike, were at the mercy of Jeffries, and when 
conformity to the established church, was a jirinciple and a 
practice, at once repugnant to reason and humanity. 

The Church of England can gain nothing, but must lose much, 
by its coercive measures towards the Catholics. Persecution 
will do its old work, by creating devotees around the altars of 
the persecuted. 

It is Sunday in Dublin. They call it a '• walking Sunday," 
because there are no festivities or glees on hand, but every one 
walks about soberly and decently ; a prelude to the uproariousness 
of the coming Fair week. To-morrow the grand fair begins at 
Donnybrook, a little streamlet, upon whose banks the Irish 
gather in crowds, to spend and lose all they have, in gaming, 
drinking and dancing. We took a car, an outside one, and vis- 
ited the spot, in company with Mr. Mowatt, a friend in Dublin, 
whose humor was as amusing as his attentions were kind. The 
car is peculiar in itself, and peculiar to, as well as common in, 
Dublin. It is a sulky, with low wheels, and seats directly over 
the wheels. The passengers ride sideways, their feet resting 
outside the wheels on a footboard, and the driver sits aloft upon 
a seat in front, full of wit, which, like his whip, is constantly on 
the crack. Six can ride on the outside. It is like an omnibus 
on two wheels, with all the top off. and the seats back to back — • 
very light, and a convenient observatory of men and manners in 
the streets. We arrived at Donnybrook, and found many thou- 
sands gathered in the green fields, looking at the erection of the 
booths, preparatory for the morrow. Already the houses and 
taverns about were full of revellers. Scotch whiskey, bagpipes 
and fiddling, were going, in conjunction with pattering feet upon 
sanded floors. Pipes and apples, toys and cakes, were being 



394 '-^ (rLAyCE AT IRELAND. 

vended by witty rogues. But every thing was decent, and in 
order. The " bating the police with shillelaghs," and the bloody 
noses, do not become dramatic, until the fair is fairly opened. 
Then look out ! 

Passing fine houses, and through airy streets, enjoying the 
humorous repartees of our driver, we drove by Nelson's column, 
and penetrated the Park. It is an extremely large area, full of 
deer and game, and specially kept for the recreation of the Lord- 
lieutenant. A fine monument to Wellington, not unlike that of 
Bunker Hill, is in the midst, overlooking the hills of green upon 
the south, and the city with its river Anne LifiFey (named after 
a King's daughter who was drowned in it whilome), over whose 
waters are numerous handsome bridges, connecting the city. 
Nelson and Wellington ! England's proudest boast ; the hero of 
the sea, and the hero of the laud. Why should they be so con- 
spicuously honored by Ireland ? Why 1 Because they remem- 
bered England's glory, and not Irish ruth ? The Duke has been 
indeed " iron," so far as Ireland claimed his sympathy. He has 
none of the impetuous open-heartedness which ever marks the 
true son of Erin. 

To-day we have experienced very cold weather. It may be 
accounted for here in this wise. It is the 24th of August, St. 
Bartholomew's day. The Irish have a maxim, 

"St. Bartholomew 
Brings the cold dew." 

Upon this day he puts a stone into the waters, which turns 
the river-water all cold, and the well-water all warm ; and this 
continues until St. Patrick's day, 17th of March, when that 
clever old saint turns the stone, and renders the wells cold, and 
the rivers warm. How many scientific disquisitions and me* 
teorological observations are saved by such a simple tradition ! 

There are two extensive poor-houses here, with over ten 
thousand in each ; and yet the beggars of Dublin are as thick 
as leaves at Vallambrosa. The country looks finely, the harvests 



.4 GLANCE AT IRELAND. 395 

are heavy, and the large park, eight miles around, seems to smile 
derisively at the poverty of the people. Land owners live in / 
England, and their agents remain here to rob both them and the 
tenants. Here is the capital defect of the social system. It 
needs an axe at the root. - "" 

We took but a glance of Northern Ireland, and this portion 
of the isle is almost a Paradise, compared to the southern por- 
tion, where starvation ever cowers and shivers. And yet no part 
of any land that we have seen, reveals so much destitution, rags 
and beggary, as the north of Ireland. Of Belfast I can but say, 
that no American city of the same size presents so much activity 
and commercial life ; while, at the same time, it is laid out with 
an elegance which betokens foresight and grace. Belfast is the 
seat of the linen manufacture. The fields in and around it were 
snow white with linen blanching in the sun ; while the country 
between Drogheda and Belfast waved with the flax, some of 
which was in process of pulling. But the towns between Dublin 
and Belfast, including Drogheda — what a picture of poverty did 
they present ! The women, in tatters, hung around our vehicle, 
and when it drove off, boys by the dozen ran after us, turning 
somersets, and using every insinuation which native Irish wit 
could suggest, to obtain alms. " Will you ! tvill yon ! — gentle- 
mon, tliroio me a hd' penny V and with other exclamations, they 
followed until the ha'penny was thrown, when a young Irish 
melee occurred in a scramble for the copper, which generally 
issued in some bloody noses, that required additional coppers to 
stanch. It was no better, if bread was thrown. A company of 
famished wolves could not dart with more singleness, or less 
ferocity of purpose, after the bread. And yet in this depth of 
poverty the gleams of an invincible humor flashed from the 
laughing lips of the little starveling imps ; as it were, gleams of 
sunshine in bright cheerful bars, irradiating a dungeon's dark- 
ness. 

How kindly is that Providence distributed, which thus 
lightens the fetters of circumstance. Who knows what genius 



396 -4 GLANCE AT IRELAND. 

lives, waiting development, in these elfish urchins, that emit such 
sparkles of fun, as they run after the traveller for the penny ? 
The atmosphere of gross eartliliness encircles and taints the 
clear beams of that soul which God has ci-eated with such subtle 
yet latent apprehension. It is solid truth, that there are hidden 
energies under the clouds of ignorance. This is the seminal 
principle of our educational systems — the germ of that hopeful- 
ness, from which the stability of the future, as well as the pro- 
gressiveness of the race, spring. Would that these young blos- 
soming energies, only blooming to be nipped by " the eager air" 
of poverty and crime, could be early transplanted to a more 
genial soil ! 

The country looks as if already deserted by its working 
people. Houses are empty, fields look neglected, and hedges 
are untrimmed. True, there is a heavy harvest ; but it is gather- 
ed by hands that work slowly, and that lack the impulse which 
proprietorship and enjoyment ever bestow. We understood that 
those who were gathering the crop of wheat, and of flax, received 
but a ha'penny per day ! To be sure they were foand — but a 
cent a day for harvest hands ! Some index of the prevailing 
destitution may be found in the signs so common, " Licensed 
to sell spirits," and the crowd of idlers which such signs always 
collect. This may, in part, account for the mud-houses, where 
filth and poverty are the presiding Penates. But where are the 
gilded flies that fatten on this corruption ? Where are the 
landlords who dole out their ha'pennies per diem to these images 
of Grod, for the use of their muscles and energies ? Oh ! living 
in England most sumptuously. They heed not the shriek of 
penury for bread. They aflfect to believe that no faces are sal- 
low, that no sunken eyes peer out of their tenant mud-houses. 
The curses of the destitute muttered in secret, give them a sul- 
len joy, that their lot is not like that of the ungovernable, un- 
tractable, and whiskey-drinking Irish. 

Even Belfast, so beautiful and prosperous, is not wanting 



A GLANCE AT IRELAND. 397 

iu illustrations of Irish destitution. They crowd around the 
hotels, and besiege the landings.! The heart grows sad and 
heavy to see so much of the same wretchedness. Would to God 
that some relief could be discerned for Ireland ! England will 
only learn how to treat her, when she finds the green isle de- 
populated by emigration. 



XXXV 

Irntrji IriMitrii ml i£m\m. 

" Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
And wave tliy heaths with blossoms red."' 

lioscoe. 

HOW clifiFerent is Scotland iu its social appearance from im- 
poverished Ireland ! We hear the same peculiar intonations 
of voice, called the brogue, and this, with the peat beds, is about 
all that resembles Ireland. You may remember, however, that 
the north of Ireland was originally settled by the Scotch. This 
will account for the similarity of brogue. 

We left Belfast at sundown, and arrived at Ayr, not very far 
from the mouth of bonnie Doon, by sunrise. Here, where Burns 
used to walk and sing, we met the first genuine Scotchmen on 
their native heaths, and heard the musical cadences of 

"That tongue which GodUke heroes apoke, 
Which Oram, Ullin, Ossiaii, sung; 
The tongue which spurned the Roman yoke, 
Wlien thraldom o'er the world was flung." 

But since we landed at Ayr, we have heard it in the Highlands, 
where Sandy spoke the unquestioned Gaelic drawn from an un- 
defiled well, and where scawns and oaten-meal cakes were eaten, 
and the descendants of the clans prided themselves upon their 
brave ancestry. 

Our ride to Glasgow by rail from Ayr upon a rainy morning, 
was without incident. The great commercial metropolis of Scot- 



SCOTCH SCESERY AND (}EMi\^. 399 

land, I had almost said of Great Britain, for it is the third city 
of the realm, has a noble history, as well as numerous points of 
local interest. The reader of Scotch history and literature 
will need no refreshing, as to the scenes here enacted, when the 
Covenant was a matter of life and death ; or when Bailie Nichol 
Jarvie here lived and gossipped. The Clyde has formed many 
associations with the minds of the gifted in its ebbing and flow- 
ing ; and none stronger than that with the poet Campbell, who 
was born at Glasgow ; and who, after a long absence from his 
native stream and city, found the nineteenth century at work 
with its coal and iron elements, destroying much of the poetry 
of the spot. He found it improved as we in America would 
say ; and lamented in verse, 

"That it no more through pastoral scenes should glide, 
My Wallace's own stream, and once romantic Clyde." 

On going up the Clyde, we found it full of craft. Iron steam- 
ers were plying up and down its muddy waters. Thousands 
of workmen were repairing and building other iron steam- 
ers. The clink of hammers resounded on every side. Energy 
never lags or slackens here. No wonder, with such calls as the 
world makes for Scotch iron and Scotch machinery. 

Material prosperity walks abreast with charity and education 
in Glasgow. You may see this, without examining statistics, in 
the bright benevolent faces which pass you on the pave. My 
time will not permit me to speak of the monuments, edifices and 
institutions of this city. I would love to do so, for there is a 
close similitude between the American and Scotch character in all 
its developments, which is worthy of a Plutarch's parallel. The 
'■' 2^c>-fervidiom iiigenhtm Scotoriim''^ oi\ na the French term it, 
" Fier comme Ecossais" by which they manage to accumulate — 
to " get along " in the world, is so peculiarly Yankee, as to have 
attracted the attention of writers and travellers very frequently. 
There is no stupidity or slowness in a Scotchman's look or move- 
ment. Besides, the Scotch have the logic — the intellect of 



400 SCOTCH SCEXERY AND GEMUS. 

Great Britain, that is, the superior mind, the commanding 
mind of the island. Edinburgh has ruled for a half century 
from her throne of rocks, the realms of politics, taste, and phi- 
losophy, with a potency that Bonaparte feared, even though it 
was exercised by ' paper pellets of the brain.' And does she 
not deserve the epithet of modern Athens 1 Is she not the " eye '' 
of Great Britain ? Was it not by a son of Caledonia, that the 
great, vital and universal principles of political economy receiv- 
ed enunciation, an enunciation which time has not bettered — 
only confirmed ? Is this not the home of Hume, Browne, Stuart, 
Scott, and Chalmers 1 But why dwell on these elements of 
greatness. 

Farewell to the sooty exhalations of Glasgow — the mud 
boats of the Clyde — the monuments of Scott and Sir John 
Moore, and the Necropolis. Ho ! for the Highlands ! where the 
air of romance weaves its spell of enchantment, where nature 
paints the heather and makes musical the rill, where the Lochs 
reflect the Bens, and the old bare-headed Bens are peopled with 
cloud shadows and clouds themselves ; where the clansmen once 
fought in the close defiles, and the misty heroes of Ossian came 
and went like the unresting shadows which lie ' in bright un- 
certainty,' upon the moving lake. 

How had I longed to see Lomond and Katrine, with their 
isles and glens, their mountains and moors ! Leaving Glasgow 
in the steamer in the afternoon, we reach Dumbarton, whose 
rock at the junction of the Leven and Clyde rises to the height 
of nearly 600 feet, measuring a mile in circumference at its 
base, terminating in two sharp points, studded with houses and 
battlements. Here, in one of the towers of Wallace's seat 
was the prison of that warrior, after his base betrayal by Sir 
John Monteith. A goodly number of heroic adventures, among 
which is the taking of the castle at its most formidable point, 
are connected with Dumbarton. A Captain Crawford, during 
one of those relentless wars which desolated Scotland in Queen 
Mary's time, contrived by scaling ladders to reach the summit 



SCOTCH SCENERY AND GENIUS. 401 

of the crags ; and was proceeding with the men to enter the 
battlements, when one of them, while climbing, was struck with 
apoplexy, probably induced by excessive terror. He could nei- 
ther go up nor down. To have slain him would have been cruel; 
besides, his fall would have created alarm. What was to be 
done ? Invincible to the last, Crawford tied him to the ladder, 
then turned it over, and with his men gained the summit, by 
mounting the other side from that to which the apoplectic soldier 
was tied, slew the sentinel, and accomplished one of the most 
daring feats ever achieved, even in this wild Scottish warfare. 

The town of Dumbarton has nothing in itself worthy of 
notice. The old ruin upon the opposite side of the Clyde is the 
Castle of Cardross, where Robert Bruce (whose crown we saw 
to-day in the Castle of Edinburgh) breathed his last. But if we 
should undertake to tell of all the renowned castles and battle- 
fields we have seen, during the last few days, a volume would be 
necessary to contain them. 

Let us at once take cars, and hurry up to Balloch, where the 
little steamer is awaiting us. The rain will hardly permit us 
five minutes at a time upon the deck. Clouds, dark and lower- 
ing, roll over the highlands, and are succeeded by sunshine. 
Rainbows and mountain-tops, — the purple heather of the isles 
and hills, — the baldness of old Ben Lomond, his head silvered 
with a cloud, sunlit and beautiful, — the darkish waters of the 
lake, vexed and whitened, — together with an original, sui generis 
wildness, that only belongs to Scottish scenery, — made up a 
view, our admiration for which could not be dampened by any 
rain nor enlivened by any sunshine. 

The lake is full of green, rocky isles. Indeed, Lomond sig- 
nifies " mauy-isled." As we approach our destination, Inverns- 
naid, the loch grows more narrow, until it seems lost among 
mountains of mist. While going along, gazing upon islet and 
shore, ever and anon turning to see the reverend form of Ben 
Lomond, we should not forget that the fierce clan of the Mac 
Gregors were once here, in their pride and power ; that it was 



402 SCOTCH SCENERY AKD GENIUS. 

while rowing down this loch, that the song for the gathering of 
the clan was sung : 

" The moon '3 on the lake, and the mist 's on the brae, 
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day, 
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich !" 

It is pleasant, too, to think, as we step on shore at Inverns- 
naid, that Wordsworth has been here before us, and that his 
Muse, ever seeking the covert beauties and sympathies of nature, 
had rendered classic the spot and cascade by his exquisite poem 
called " The Highland Girl." We rested all night near the 
cascade, within sight and hearing of its wild foaming and music. 
From the top of the mountain, over which we go toward Katrine, 
it rushes, with many interpositions of rock and tree, bristling 
and white, until it plunges, sheer and broken, out of a clump of 
pines into a boiling basin, where it hisses and steams until it 
finds placidity in the Loch Lomond below. It was right grand 
to clamber up from crag to crag, leaping from rock to rock, and 
at last finding solid foothold under the flashing, foaming mass, 
and near the trembling, spraying abyss, — to sit beneath the 
'sweat of great agony' wrung from out this Highland Phlege- 
thon that swayed in the wind which roared madly up the glen 
and amid the brae. True, it was not Niagara ; nor are Lomond, 
Ben Ledi, Ben Ann, and their associates, like the Alps. They 
are but an abridged edition of them, with many of the finest 
figures and loftiest sentiments omitted ; yet how much is here 
for the finest capacity to grasp and mould into mirrors " radiant 
with fair images." Wonder not that Fingal, and those children 
of the mist, waked by Ossian, here had their local habitation. 
Wonder not that Scott has inwoven such a rich and weird web 
of romance around 

All the fairy crowds 
Of islands that together lie 
As quietly as spots of sky 
Among the evening clouds. 



SCOTCH SCENERY AND GENIUS. 403 

Well have the people of Edinburgh erected the Gothic monu- 
ment to Scott — rising so solidly, yet so lightly, in such fair pro- 
portions, looming so loftily in the shadow of their Acropolis ! 
Well have they honored Burns too, whose heart and soul sung 
a song for Scotia's sake, and whose genius has rendered more 
immortal than the Alps the mountains of Caledonia Scott and 
Burns ! — noble duumvirate ! They have monuments — not alone 
in Edinburgh, but every peak and castled crag form monuments 
to their undying fame ! 

Why — what is that wild Loch Katrine, with its green gem 
called Ellen's Isle — its Rob Roy's prison ; its Rhoderick Dhu's 
watchtower, — and its Ben Venue ; its groves vocal with the 
music of birds ; its hundred white mountain streams, its bleached 
sand silvered by the wash of the clear wave ; its wild goats climb- 
ing where no other feet, save those of the bird, can venture ; its 
clumps of wood and ample fields, and, near by, its Trossachs, so 
wildly beautiful ; what is all this without the creative genius 
which has peopled the isle, the moor, the mountain and the glen 
with the Lady of the Lake, the Douglass, the merry roaming 
King Fitz James, and the wild Roderick ! 

We found a tiny steamer ready to ply toward the Trossachs, 
and there we found an open carriage and an understanding driver, 
who talked queerly in the Gcclic, as he gave us the legend which 
clung to each spot to beautify and embalm. 

A few hours' ride and we were in sight of Stirling Castle. 
The superior attraction of this brave old rocky seat of power, 
drowns the associations of the Highlands. We cannot stop to 
paint the scene where Roderick and Fitz James fought, nor 
where the latter lost his gallant gray ; for we are surmounting 
at Stirling the very seat of James V. himself; around which the 
sports and games of the olden time were enacted. We enter the 
halls of the kings — look at each old memento, not forgetting the 
big tarpaulin-looking hat worn by Cromwell. I am no hero- 
worshipper, but there are some peculiarities which Old Noll had 
that tickle my fancy, if they do not engage my worship, such as 



404 SCOTCH SCENERY AND GENIUS. 

praying with a lot of solemn Scotchmen from six in the after- 
noon till three in the morning, in order to lull suspicion, and 
create the impression that he was quite godly. 

The view from Stirling Castle is magnificent, only surpassed 
in Scotland by the view we enjoyed to-day from the Castle of 
Edinburgh. Below are the garden spots once laid out by the 
mother of Queen Mary, and to the north is a small castle, where 
so many executions took place, and where the death axe sounded 
so frequently. 

Not far, is the scene of one of Sir William Wallace's most 
splendid engagements, where he disputed the passage of the 
Forth by the English army under Cressingham. The High- 
lands stretch with a bold sweep upon the distant horizon. From 
Stirling towers, where often the spectator of many a bloody fray 
stood poised betwixt hope and fear, we took our final view of 
those homes of song and story, — those Highlands, where the mist 
seems continually to hover, and the hardy heather seems ever to 
bloom. 

The railroad whirls us past many a scene renowned, prime 
among which is that famous field of Bannockburn, where Bruce 
won the day against more than double his nvimber. 

We have spent two days in Edinburgh, never ceasing to ad- 
mire its architectural elegance, both in church and mansion, in 
castle and monument. But most is the city to be remembered 
for its Acropolis — that feature which makes it akin to Athens. 
The view from it is inspiriting and noble, expanding the soul, and 
almost fitting it with wings " wherewith to scorn the earth." 
But wherever we go. whether to Scott's monument, to the Old 
Parliament House, to St. Giles, where Knox talked gospel, where 
Regent Stuart lies, and Napier the author of the Logarithms re- 
poses, and where the Covenant was signed, to Calton Hill, where 
monuments and a fragmentary temple mark it prominentlj^ ; 
whether to the old Tolbooth or down Canonsgate ; in old town or 
new; whether we enter the old room where Queen Mary slept, in the 
castle, or look at the palace of Holyrood, — the talk and the cry 



SCOTCH SCENERY AND GENIUS. 405 

is " the Queen ! the Queen ! !" and sure enough, at three o'clock 
all Edinburgh, and the adjacent country had assembled near the 
ancient Holyrood, and under the shadow and upon the green 
sides of Salisbury crags, to see Victoria and her handsome hus- 
band. We mingled with the mass, saw the royal folk (plainly 
dressed people, and really human), and Can avouch that no osten- 
tation was displayed by royalty on this occasion. The Queen 
wore a very ordinary bonnet, without ribbons, shading a reddish 
ordinary countenance ; while Prince Albert looked like a sensi- 
ble, good-natured, honest German gentleman, as he undoubtedly 
is. Had we no other evidence of the latter fact, we might find it 
in the model house which he invented and caused to be erected 
near the Exhibition Palace, for the purpose of showing how com- 
fortably the poor might be provided for, with little expense. 

There was great excitement in the city. The Provost was 
knighted by a tap on the shoulder from the little Regina ; 
Holyrood smoked and gleamed with life ; the people were in 
groups about it ; the railroad cars stood crowned and garlanded 
near ; for the Queen was there in that old home of power, about 
to leave ; and Loyalty stood without, ready to hurrah and throw 
up its hat ! 

From Edinburgh our course was over the Border ; not omit- 
ting, by the way, a visit to Melrose Abbey, the delicate beauty 
of whose ruins, Poetry has for ever enshrined ; to Dryburgh Ab- 
bey, the place of sepulture of Sir Walter Scott, and rich in an 
old Druidical umbrage and in its ivied hangings ; to Abbotsford, 
the repository of the Antiquary's curiosities, and the home of 
the Author of Waverly ; to Fountain Abbey, in North England, 
— an immense ruin in the noble park of Earl Grey, with all 
the relics of the monastic age still clustering about tower and 
transept, nave and prison, kitchen and cloister ; and not omitting 
either the castles, gray and black, which frowned in early days 
defiant at each other across the Border, now in the decrepitude 
of age, but, like old soldiers, still vaunting their wounds and 



406 SCOTCH SCENERY AND GENIUS. 

strength even in decay. Such visits were not made, be it ever 
remembered, without crossing thy stream, rushing, romantic 
Tweed ! nor without admiring the select diversity of pastoral 
beauty, majestic hills, arching bridges, splendid palaces, and the 
wizard enchantment which dwell in thy sweet valley, Teviot- 
dale ! 



XXXVI. 

CrnHsing tlje 36nrkr, nnh tjiB M i>lIiliBtii 



'Within tlie quiet of the convent cell, 
Tlie well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept, 
And sinned, and liked their penance well." 

Bryant. 



THIS last day of summer has met us with a most delightful 
sunshine in this capital of North England, the ancient city 
of York. It comes, too, upon the holy day, when the air is 
hushed. A quietude of unaccustomed delight seems showered 
upon field and grove, minster and wall, as the sunlight glances 
upon the earth. The cool air, which has so long followed us 
through Scotland, and down to this city, gently gives way before 
the warming radiance. The influence woos one from the fire- 
side. 

Through manifold turnings, the ancient walls of the city are 
gained, and easily ascended. How exhilarating is the Sabbath- 
morning walk along the gray battlements ! Spring hath come 
again in seeming. The birds in the apple-trees below are almost 
as numerous as the fruitage, and twitter with so transporting a 
melody, that Silence herself seemeth to listen. It is indeed a 
' merry, merry sunshine.' The green hedges glisten with the 
freshening morning. The lowing of the kine, ever and anon, is 
borne toward the walls from the country beyond ; while, as I 
turn, the city appears to rest solemnly and still as the gray walls 
themselves. Chimney-stacks no longer stream with smoke. 
Their week-day work is done. They join the spires in their 



408 UliOSSING THE BORDEE, 

silent gesture upward. The Minster — that old York Minster, 
so celebrated in annals, and so glorious in structure — stands out 
prominently in the glistening air, with its lofty tower of solid 
masonry, companioned by two other towers, ' with spiry turrets 
crowned,' high above the Gothic arches and niches which grace 
the body of the immense pile. The eye glances at many an old 
and humble church, with stained windows and blackened stone, 
half hid in the green copses and red-tiled houses which, inter- 
mingling, give the city a rural aspect. The slate roofs here and 
there may be seen by the dazzling glance of the sun upon them, 
which, upon this last summer day, makes all nature shimmer in 
the grateful sheen. The chimes begin their morning hymn, in- 
undating the glittering landscape with viewless waves of sound. 

This is a scene that awakens many a memory which the 
English classics have implanted by their faithful delineations of 
English town and country. Cowper and Thomson are beneath 
my eye in their placid, bright, original features. How blessed 
is that country which can boast so glorious a landscape — so 
green, so goodly, so pleasing, ' that the harp of Orpheus is not 
more charming !' How doubly blessed is that country whose 
native genius hath painted, in undying language, the quiet 
beauty and cheerful spirit that brood over field and city, dale 
and hill ! 

There is a similar pensive beauty clinging to the country 
throughout the North of England and the South of Scotland — 
and which may be called ' the Border' — that pleases, and en- 
genders a deep devotional spirit while it pleases. Was it not 
this peculiarity which led to the erection of such piles as Mel- 
rose Abbey, Dryburgh Abbey, and Fountain AbUffey ? But of 
these by and by, when we take the reader over the border. 

The tramp of many feet upon the pavements indicates the 
church-going crowd. We have been too long absent from wor- 
ship not to wish for an hour's communion in the house of God. 
A stranger need not inquire the way to York Minster ; for it is 
its own great guide to its own great temple. It cannot be sur- 



A^'D THE OLD ABBEYS. 409 

veyed with as much effect from any other point as from the 
large green upon the north. Buildings surround it upon the 
other sides, which forbid a view commensurate with its extent 
and grandeur. Its form is that of a cross ; and its appearance, 
except in a small portion, is rather new, compared with other 
minsters of England. 

We spent some time under an ivy shade, upon a seat of 
stone, busying the eye in climbing from point to point, and un- 
ravelling the G othic complexity which binds the whole. If you 
take it apart, you may form numerous large churches and chapels, 
each one a marvel ; each one having its Gothic arches and 
niches, with windows whose dull colors from the outside inade- 
quately foretell the resplendent beauties which are revealed 
within. Flowers and leaves, obdurate to frost, bedeck each 
pinnacle : while spire after spire rise around like a petrified 
forest. Festoons of stone, richly carved, grace the different 
arches, while in the niches stand the forms of prophet and 
saint. Quaint, grim, and humorous heads are protruded at 
different points. Together, the immense structure constitutes a 
maze, in which the sight may wander and in grateful variety be 
lost. 

There can be no question but that the Gothic sprung from 
the green alleys and branching trunks which beautify nature. 
If we go within, and note the lofty vault, with its intertwisted 
and adorning branches and foliage, the idea of a forest of giant 
trees interlaced, cannot be repressed. But as we enter, other 
thoughts are ours. The organ swells in grand symphony, filling 
the large temple with a harmonious complexity of music, which 
well befits such a Gothic pile. Service has begun. The choir 
is full of worshippers. The chanting floats mildly " upon the 
easy bosom of the air." The bishop enters the chancel with two 
other ecclesiastics, preceded by an usher bearing a silver rod. I 
am a novice in these ceremonies, having been reared in " Dis- 
sent," and cannot call things by their right names. But that 
does not prevent an appreciation of the beautiful service in 



410 CROSSING THE BORDER, 

choice English^ wLich issues from the lips of the venerable 
prelate, and finds reponse in the choir, from the lips of a score of 
youths in white dresses, whose tenor voices, under some master- 
tone, rise and fall sweetly in unison with the organ's swell and 
cadence. Near by, the unresting eye discovers a saintly and 
martial company, wholly unmoved by this discourse of praise. 
In stony immovableness they repose upon, and kneel over their 
own graves — these abbots and bishops in strange uncouth dress, 
and those soldiers and knights invested with mail and unifoi'm. 
The light, colored by the stained glass, irradiates their fixed 
features, fills the air with its purple hue, rests against the huge 
pillars, and tips the canopies of carved wood which overhang so 
fitly the Gothic seats. 

I noticed here, as at Westminster, that much of the old 
manner and form is preserved. The ceremony which we heard 
and saw at Rome was here translated into English, and pruned 
of many of its formulas ; but to us it appeared ceremony still. 
The tendency at pi-escnt in the English church is decidedly 
toward the formal, and, consequently, from the spiritual. The 
good Archbishop of Canterbury has given notice to many of 
those who minister under his charge, that he will summon them 
into his court, unless they cease certain practices not " set 
down" in the Book of Common Prayer : to wit, lighting candles 
at the altar, turning from the congregation, chanting certain 
parts of the service, ct ccBtcra. Well, let the prelates fix the 
forms of their church as best they may. We simple-worshipping 
Puritans can only hope that in the form they will ever enshrine, 
as they have often enshrined, the sincere spirit ; and that we 
may never be ashamed of our plain service and plain meeting- 
houses, wherein the Great Ob.iect of all worship is as accessi- 
ble as in Gothic minsters or Italian basilicas. Nay, have we 
not what our ancestry had, and what all mankind in common 
have, that temple which no human art can adorn, where no ex- 
clusiveness reigns, and where no intercessor intervenes between 
God and the soul except the Savioi^ ? Have we not the temple 



AND THE OLD ABBEYS. 411 

of Nature ? " What a structui-e is it ; and what a glorious 
adorning is put upon it, to touch the springs of imagination and 
feeling, and to excite the principles of devotion ! What painted 
or gilded dome is like that arch of blue that swells above us ! 
What blaze of clustered lamps, or even burning tapers, is like 
the lamp of day hung in the heavens, or the silent and mysteri- 
ous lights that burn for ever in the fai'-off depths of the evening 
sky ! And what are the splendid curtains with which the 
churches of Rome are clothed for festal occasions, to the gor- 
geous clouds that float around the pavilion of morning or the 
tabernacle of the setting sun ! And what mighty pavement of 
tessellated marble can compare with the green valleys, the 
enamelled plains, the whole variegated, broad and boundless 
pavement of this world's surface, on which the mighty congrega- 
tion of the children of nien are standing ! What, too, are altars 
reared by human hands, compared with the everlasting moun- 
tains — those altars in the temple of nature ; and what incense 
ever arose from human altars like the bright and beautiful 
mountain mists that float around those eternal heights, and then 
rise above them and are dissolved into the pure and transparent 
ether, like the fast-fading shadows of human imperfection, losing 
themselves in the splendor of heaven ! And what voice ever spoke 
from human altar like the voice of the thunder from its cloudy 
tabernacle on those sublime heights of the creation ! And 
what anthem or psean ever rolled from organ or orchestra, or 
from the voice of a countless multitude, like the di'ead and 
deafening roar of ocean, with all its " swelling multitude of 
waves !" 

For the last few days we have been visiting the ruins of 
other temples, those made with human hands, in the middle 
ages. We have been admiring the elegance of art, as it sprung 
from the hands of the old freemasons, and the spots where 
burned the singular devotion of those early scholars and monks 
whose power evoked such beautiful structures. We look at 
them more curiously than at the great temple of Nature. Why 1 



412 ' CROSSING THE BOEDER, 

Because human, fraternal sympathies draw us thither. We 
feel that hearts once beat to impulses kindred with our own, 
within those cloisters, where now the tenacious ivy clings ; that 
the intellects of the patient schoolmen here pondered the classic 
tomes their hands preserved, and delved into dialectics more 
abstruse than any we now have, and formed systems of phi- 
losophy as wonderful as they were fruitless ; and that here, 
hospitality once gathered the wayfarers around its ample board 
in the old abbey, where now the velvet grassplot grows, and the 
traveller wanders. It is these kindred sympathies which 
make Melrose, Dryburgh and Fountain Abbeys, such pleasing 
resorts for the traveller. May I not herein weave an episode of 
our pilgrimage to these ancient shrines ? 

Edinburgh was in a tremor of excitement the morning we 
left for Melrose. A crowd as great as that which gathered the 
evening before to greet the Queen, now hung darkling about the 
gates of Holj'rood, impatient to see her Majesty enter the 
crowned and garlanded car, which was awaiting her appearance 
as we leisurely moved by in our own unostentatious conveyance. 
Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags soon shut out the classic 
city of the North. The tall castle and ever-beauteous monu- 
ment to Scott have fixed Edinburgh in our mind as deeply as the 
Acropolis and the Theseum have fixed Athens. Around them 
arise the many-storied dwellings and black old churches which 
give a peculiar air of antiquity to Old Town, and the neatly- 
pillared fabrics which adorn the vicinage of Queen-street and 
Crescent-place in New Town. 

Thirty-seven miles from these spots, in the fertile valley of 
the Tweed, where nature is so richly diversified with pastoral 
slope and majestic hill, we found the finest specimen of Grothic 
architecture ever reared to the honor of man or the service of 
God in Great Britain. Its peculiarity consists not in its size, 
nor its stone, nor its form ; but moi*e especially in the perfec- 
tion of its minute ornaments every where profusely carved, and 
its elegant proportions on every sides till traceable. Its form 



AND THE OLD ABBEYS. 



413 



was that of the Latin cross, with a square tower in the centre. 
The choir and the transept yet remain. Our guide led us into 
them, and up between the masonry, by narrow stairways, upon 
the walls. The west gable is in ruin. Over the richly-moulded 
Crothic portal in the south transept is a magnificent window 
the great attraction of Melrose. It is twenty-four feet by 
sixteen, divided by four bars, which interlace at the top in 
various curves. The stone-work of the window is as perfect as 
when the colored light first beamed in upon the vocal choir. 
Nine niches are above this window, and two on each buttress, 
for images of Christ and His apostles. Various images yet 
remain in their places. Sculptured forms of plant and animal 
adorn pedestal, canopy, and buttress. The leafy tracery is yet 
to be seen, so delicate and light that straws may pierce, and just 
pierce, their minute orifices. The eastern window is particularly 
beautiful, and has been the theme of Sir Walter Scott's poetry. 
He recommends the visitor to see it when the oriel, the corbeils, 
grotesque and grim, and the pillai-s, like bundles of lances bound 
with garlands, are all silvered with the mild moonlight. We 
can well imagine that, under so magic an enchantment, when 
the silver light edges the imagery, giving the semblance of 
ebony and ivory to the delicately-wrought material, Melrose 
would enchain the beholder, as it were some fairy creation, and 
would justify the verse of Sir Walter. 

"Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand 
In many a freakish knot had twined ; 
Then fi-amed a spell when the work was done, 
And changed the willow wreaths to stone." 

Many of the Douglas famil}', as well as other noted persons 
in Scotch annals, including Alexander II., are buried in this 
abbey. The heart of Bruce lies beneath a broken stone. Doug- 
las tried unsuccessfully to bear it to the Holy Land. It reposes 
in more congenial soil. Around it the grass and alders grow, 



414 CROSSIA'G THE BOEDER, 

and plentiful hangings of ivy climb. Around it there repose, in 
the graveyard, generation after generation of those who have 
named the name of Bruce with thrilling pride ; and nearer, 
within the abbey, lie numerous abbots and monks who once 
ruled, and, if tradition be true, revelled right joHily, in these 
sacred walls. We walked about the ruins over the mounds — 
a silent company. We felt, in truth, that " never was scene so 
sad, so fair." Scott has breathed the immortality of his poetry 
upon the scene, and has given it added interest by weaving the 
" Lay of the Last Minstrel" around it. Could we do better, 
after seeing Melrose, than to visit the home of him, whose pen 
had imparted so much interest to the old abbey, and indeed to 
almost every spot which we have visited in Scotland % 

I wish that I could forget one thing about Abbotsford, and 
only remember what we saw, and not what we heard. From 
Melrose we drove through hedged lanes and turnpike gates, 
until we reached the portal of Abbotsford. We met there a 
party of Americans who had been waiting some time for entrance. 
Under their direction, and being advised that it was proper, we 
took a path leading down to the stream, and enjoyed the view 
of the houses, which, taken together, and with as much unity as 
they can muster, constitute Sir Walter's seat. They have no 
particular style or comeliness ; but they have a fine prospect of 
water and hill, mead and wood. A grassy lawn spreads its 
green carpet between the stream and house. Additions are 
being built, which cannot adorn the house more, nor add a single 
leaf to its volume of associations. 

We returned to the portal just in time to see a queer old 
English housewife dancing -along, with a crowd after her, and 
scolding with a virago's tongue. She unlocked the gate. Now 
came our turn : '• So, so ! you're the party that have been 
wandering over the grounds, where you've no business — none at 
all !" I did not like to spoil our visit, so kept my teeth clench- 
ed, and my tongue in prison ; and we all marched in like 
whipped and naughty children, smothering revenge enough to 



AN£> THE OLD ABBEYS. 4^5 

have cannibalized the old Xantippe, and sauce enough for the 
meal. With a consequential, snappish air, and a lachrymose 
sniffle, (rare combination !) she led us into a hall, or armory, 
where, amidst the tasteful arrangement of guns, pistols and 
swords, many of them once carried by kings and Highland 
chieftains (including Rob Roy), were hung, as primary in 
interest, the iron keys of the Tolbooth, which the reader of the 
Heart of Mid-Lothian need not be reminded, once turned the 
lock on deluded Effie Deans. A glass case contained the last 
suit of clothes worn by Sir Walter. Presents from Byron, 
among which was a silver urn of rare workmanship, containing 
some human bones from Athens, were distributed around among 
the canes, hatchets and other instruments which the novelist 
had used. We were ushered into his study ; saw the old arm- 
chair in which he received the airy servitors of his brain ; his 
books and furniture, all just as they were when he died. A 
good-natured Louisianian asked if he might sit in the chair. 

' No, sir — noli ! never have heard such presumption before — 
never !' 

' Oh ! but it couldn't hurt it, and it would be quite a pleas- 
ure to remember.' 

The old lady flushed, while she replied : ' I don't admire 
such taste as yours, sir. We hold that chair too sacred for any 
one to sit in. This way, sir. Oblige me by not delaying, you 
— Miss ! If I allowed every body to sit in it, it would soon be 
dirty and ragged. Pass on, sir.' 

And so, with tantalizing haste and unwomanly j^ertness, she 
posted us from room to room, vintil all the sanctity of the place 
began to ooze out in vexation, which finally found relief in the 
humorous. Would not Sir Walter himself chuckle to see such 
a specimen showing off his mementoes ? 

The library gave us most satisfaction. The portraits of the 
family hung around. Sir Walter's picture did not impress me 
so peculiarly as the statue in Edinburgh, in the Gothic monu- 
ment. Neither has it the intellectual vigor which speaks from 



416 CEOSSING THE BORDER, 

the marble bust by Chantrey, which is in the library. A bay- 
window and recess hung with crimson damask, occupied the side 
of the room next to the stream. The window opened to one of 
the finest views of nature that ever inspired an author. Before 
tlie fii*e-place a dog was quietly snugged in the deep wool of the 
rug, which gave a peculiarly Scott-air to the chamber. Sir 
Walter was always accompanied by his dog, and is so repre- 
sented in his portraits. His famous dog cut in stone stands 
before the outer door, under the shadow of the stag-antlers. 

We would not dwell too much upon the minute ; but such 
an arrangement as we saw at Abbotsford is worth a study. It 
indicates a chaste and superlative refinement, and connects the 
idea of literary ease with worldly comfort so deliciously, that 
we would fain have lingered, but for : ' The door's open, sir ; 
don't you see V from Mrs. Xantippe. Takiug one glance at the 
portrait of Lockhart, another at the odd sketches, illustrating 
Sir Walter's characters, which hung on the wall, and still an- 
other, despite Mrs. Xantippe, at a sketch of Queen Elizabeth 
dancing in full costume, frills, ruffs, high head-dress (all in ad- 
mirable caricature), which was a pet of Sir Walter's, and is an 
unique and striking crotchet from the brain of Art, I left the 
library to enter into another room, in which time only was 
allowed to see Napoleon's pistols, which I wickedly wished might 
sjjontaneously go ofi"at Mrs. Xantippe. 

One of the party ventured to inquire something about the 
family who i-eside at Abbotsford (a gentleman who married his 
granddaughter — I forget his name — lives there), when our 
sjilenetic madam put a clapper on his interrogation by saying : 
' It's not very polite, sir, to .ask such questions when the people 
are in the house. They might hear you. I wish nothing of 
the kind mentioned. There's the court : a sixpence each. Come ! 
no loitering !' 

And thus we passed by the rare collection of curiosities 
which the antiquary had gathered. A glance at the shield 
spoken of in Waverley ; a stride past the writing-desk presented 



AXI) THE OLD ABBEYS. 417 

by George IV. ; a retiua confuvsed, and a tympanum fretted 
with the petulance of the guide ; a few maledictions on tlie 
shameful and disgusting manner in which so much that could 
inspire respect for the memory of the wonderful ' Wizard of the 
North ' is displayed ; and we are en route for a more delightful 
and a holier spot — the burial-place of the great bard and novel- 
ist at Dryburgh Abbey. 

Ettrick and Yarrow, made known far and wide as the 
English tongue travels, by the songs of Hogg and the sonnets 
of Wordsworth, lie contiguous with their wild hills, and are 
plainly seen from Abbotsford. Before we reach Dryburgh, the 
Tweed, which is here a trout stream, swift and clear, must be 
crossed. As we rowed over, we observed an odd anchor in the 
midst of the stream, staying by its human grip a skiff, in which 
a nobleman who owned the fishery was standing, swishing his 
pole and letting out his gossamer line after the most approved 
custom of Izaak Walton, and totally unconscious of the shiver- 
ing servant, nearly up to his arms in the cold water, who moved 
the boat at the pleasure of his lord. But did not that servant 
watch anxiously for glorious nibbles or sundown 1 

The abbey at Dryburgh is hid in a wood, and is approached 
through an orchard. It is very ancient, having been founded 
during the reign of David I., by the Lord of Lauderdale. The 
spot was once a worship-grove of the Druids. Lying near the 
border, it has been subject to the harshest vicissitudes of border 
war. Its ruins are very extensive. It has one charm which 
no other ruin possesses : a large star-window perfectly pre- 
served, high up in a wall which is entirely clad in ivy, and 
leaving only this gem of stone and sky, like a sapphire brooch, 
clasping the glistening drapery of green investing the ruin, all 
too beautiful for the corrosion of Time. 

On the twenty-sixth of September, 1832, a solemn proces- 
sion moved over this eminently beautiful spot, and under these 
verdurous arches, bearing the remains of the greatest of the 
name which appears so frequently upon the grave-stones of the 



418 CROSSING THE BOB DEE, 

abbey. Mourning no common loss, they heavily carry the bier 
down the grassy aisle of St. Mary ; and soon, with holy rite 
and sad hearts, the body of Walter Scott is committed to the 
earth to mingle with the common mould, surrounded by his 
ancestry and the ancient proprietors of the abbey. But Mar- 
mion, Waverley, Ivanhoe and Old Mortality were not interred 
in Dryburgh upon that day. They form a part of the deathless 
spirit and creative mind of him who shed at once so much lustre 
upon his country's legends and history, and so much benignity 
upon mankind. We gathered a twig of ivy near his tomb, and 
added one more link to the chain of kindred thoughts, wliich 
already contains the resting-places of Shelley, Keats, Virgil, and 
the kings and princes of song who rule from the urns of West- 
minster Abbey. 

The ruins of Dryburgh are fast decaying. But the granite 
slab which covers the remains of Sir Walter looks fresh and 
new. On either side are his wife and only son, and the tombs 
of all three are inclosed in an iron railing. They are ivy-clad, 
and deeply embowered in a shade which is worthy of its Druid- 
ical dedication in the olden time. 

Dryburgh was the refuge of Edward II., after his unsuccess- 
ful invasion of Scotland. The vault once haunted by the 
familiar spirit known as Fatlips, that attended the female wan- 
derer who once sought refuge here, is still shown. She had 
made a vow that she never would see the light of day until her 
lover returned. She only left her vault by night to procure the 
means of subsistence. A statue of Wallace occupies a prominent 
spot in the wood above the abbey. As we cross the stream 
again, the fine monument • on the battle-field of Penuelheugh 
appears, which, like the triple-topped mountain cleft by the 
wizard Michael Scott, follows us far toward Kelso. Our ride 
down sweet Teviotdale during the setting of the sun (and a lus- 
trous setting it was, gorgeous in cloud-gold !) was by many 
ancient seats of power and pleasure, and over many spots rich 
in legendary lore and historic interest. The meagre remnant 



AND THE OLD ABBEYS. 419 

of lloxburgli castle, upon a commanding hill near the road, 
overlooked the romantic river. A holly tree near, still marks 
the spot where James II. was killed, while besieging the castle. 
The Duke of Roxburgh resides in the splendid palace of Fleurs. 
a stately specimen of the Tudor style, which rises from a sloping 
lawn that runs up from the opposite bank of the stream, not far 
from where the Teviot mingles with the Tweed. 

Castles and abbeys become common before we reach Ber- 
wick, and even after we leave it for Newcastle, upon the ' coaly 
Tyne.' Between Newcastle and Thirsk, amid the country of 
coal-pits, an apparition strange, yet beautiful, appeared upon a 
distant hill. It was a Grrecian temple, not far from Aycliffe. 
How finely its rounded columns and proportionate entablature 
rested against the sky ! An extended ride still kept its classic 
elegance in view ; and it will be a long, long time before the 
vision of that temple will fade from our memory of northern 
England. That temple in the smoky landscape became a re- 
minder of the classic lands. It was like — what was it like 1 A 
jewel in an Ethiop's ear ; an hexameter from Virgil in the dry 
black-letter of an old law tome. 

We have unavoidably omitted much of the descriptive be- 
longing to the valley of the Tweed, which cultivated hills and 
dimpled lawns, great bridges and time-gnarled forests, combine 
to diversify and gi-ace. The railroad hurries us to Ripon, 
through a country where monuments to England's material 
greatness arise in the form of tall chimneys, and locomotives 
dash, with a white scarf floating behind, almost at every point 
of the compass. We frequently counted six or eight playing 
over the land at once. What will not iron and coal do for 
a little island? Our object in coming to Ripon was to see 
the most extensive abbey-ruin in Great Britain. It is upon 
the property of Earl Glrey, and accessible to strangers. It is 
like those I have described, but with a difference. It is ap- 
proached through an extensive park, in which profuse art has 
adorned nature, by changing her trees into vaulted aisles, her 



420 CROSSISG THE BORDER, 

waters into swan-peopled lakes, and her lawns into spreads of 
loveliest verdure. Statues are seen ranged through vistas. 
Laurel banks, neatly trimmed, line the paths. Water-falls 
murmur in the quiet air. Soon the extensive ruins are seen, of 
course ivy-garlanded, with towers of immense size and altitude, 
and arches under ground, between which the stream sullenly 
complains. Dungeons with iron fastenings are visible, not far 
from the long range of cloisters where the monks studied and 
walked. It requires no heavy draft on the imagination, to 
evoke from the tombs over which we tread, the forms of those 
monkish clerks and copyists, whose enthusiastic zeal led to such 
manual dexterity, that the art of printing has not been able, 
with all its refinement, to excel their manuscripts. The ancient 
Bibles which were shown to us in Rome, and the snowy vellum 
missals in the British Museum, illustrated with gold, blue, and 
carmine, with their shining black letters, — each one able to bear 
a microscopic scrutiny, — speak of a quietude and seriousness 
which must have reigned in these walls where so much study 
and care were given. The forms of the Venerable Bede, of 
Friar Bacon, Theodore of Canterbury, and others who loved to 
reproduce and pore over the select and precious gems of the 
monkish library, rise with solemn air, and read us lessons of 
patience and perseverance which our age. with its acquisitiveness 
and hurry cannot teach. 

Why is it that all religions have had a system of asceti 
cism ? Is it consistent with the ordination of God, that His 
ministers should be set apart from the world, which they ought 
to teach ? Yet, Mahometanism had, and has even yet, its 
Soofies and Dervishes, from the Mediterranean to the Ganges ; 
the Jews had their Essenes, who lived in the desert and held 
their j^roperty in common, and their Therapeuts, who sought 
happiness in solitary contemplation of the Divine essence ; the 
religions of the East, Boodhism and Braminism, have had their 
monastic orders, their Yooges and Fakirs ; the Pythagoreans in 
Greece, imitating the sects of Egypt, from which they learned 



AND THE OLD ABBEYS. 421 

their mysteries, dwelt apart from the haunts of men ; and Catho- 
licism has had its monasticism, under various names and forms, 
Anchorets, Ceuobites, Benedictines, Cai-thusiaus, Cistercians, 
Mendicants ; and these had their subdivisions. It must be con- 
fessed that much good has emanated from these recluses. Giant 
minds have been nursed in the solitary cell. Civilization in its 
intellectual and industrious phases, received advancement from 
these holy orders ; and even yet, if there be a spot where the 
light cannot be kept burning in the fitful gusts of human pas- 
sion and ignorance, these sequestered homes of thought and 
piety might be of service. But in this century, when light has 
gone forth among the nations, no one can praise a fugitive and 
cloistered virtue, that shuns the dust and heat of active life. 

Other parts of Fountain Abbey bear evidence of other em- 
ployments besides the intellectual and devotional. The great 
chimneys and fireplaces, yet showing marks of the culinary calo- 
ric, are to be seen ; while near by, upon a portal stone, are carved 
the arms of the abbey, which are three horseshoes — emblems of 
good luck, and talisraanic to keep the witches away. The nave 
and transept were very extensive, and finely preserved. But 
every where the hand of sacrilegious decay is at work, despoil- 
ing window and niche of figure and strength ; while time has 
sown his grass-seed gently over the tessellated floor, which now 
yields to the traveller's tread, as he passes through this great 
home of the monkish multitude, and in fancy re-peoples it with 
singing choir and praying priests, all ruled by the baronial abbot 
and his men-at-arms. 

By Knaresborough, and the Dropping Well, we seek this 
capital of Yorkshire, and have spent our Sabbath in enjoying 
its repose and pencilling our journeyings. We are ready once 
more to gather our robes about us, and trudge on to other 
scenes. But the three abbeys, and Abbotsford, must ever be 
our landmarks by which to tell the high tide of our pleasure 
and our progress through the Borders. 

What is the influence which remains, now that our eyes have 



422 CBOS^LXc^ THE BORDER. 

feasted upon ruin and landscape, and our minds have recalled 
the associations with which they are fraught ? Now that the 
pleasure-loving and curious propensity has beeia gratified, what 
permanent good has been ingrafted upon the immortal soul, 
by thus moving amid the beauties of nature and of art, under 
the twilight of anti(|uity 'I Are these objects but the chance 
scribblings and frolicksome creations of the dead past, meaning- 
less and indifferent in this present time ? Is there no lesson of 
beauty to be learned from a perception and a study of these 
Gothic piles, in the witchery of their ruins ? Comes there no 
admonition to patience and devotion, as we recall from their 
graves the form of monk and friar, and think how, day after 
day, and night after night, they fought within the cloister the 
logomachies of Aristotle, under the command of Scotus or 
Aquinas ? Oh, yes ! Here, in these homes of the studious 
and learned, there burned altars to truth and goodness, although 
their fires were dim and sepulchral. When all else was ignor- 
ance profound, with vestal vigilance the light was kept bright, 
until it burst into the full radiance of a better civilization. When 
baronial insolence ruled its serfs with iron sway, and ran riot in 
the worst passions of our sinful nature, there was found in these 
abbeys a refuge, where peace and good-will hedged the innocent 
round about with protection, and where the religion of Jesus 
kindled its hope of celestial beatitude, high and aloof from the 
troubles and turmo'ils of the world. 



XXXVII. 

(lE^nglisli lusknlini, mill \^t %m\i\ nf Cjintsinnrtlj. 

"Each one contends, with all her might and main, 
Each day a higher verdant crown to gain." 

Cowley's Poem cm Plants. 

THIS northern part of England, around York, is checkered 
with railroads so completely, that it is impossible to look 
out upon the landscape without seeing the swift-rushing car. 
From Newburg to Sheffield, at all angles, — obtuse, acute, and 
right, — these vehicles are every moment darting, freighted with 
coal and coke, iron and humanity. The country after night 
seems alive with fires from furnaces and coke-ovens ; while by 
day, deep, dark holes, ' into which the mild sunbeam hath not 
power to pierce.' and into which only the lightning could dart 
illumination, open on every side like entrances to Hades, out of 
which machinery is shelling coal by the ton. And yet here, as 
in every arable part of Grreat Britain that we have seen, Agri- 
culture seems to gather as rich a harvest, and to take as nice a 
heed in the cultivation of the soil, as in other less manufacturing 
districts. The harvest-time was just at its middle point. Two 
months later than in Ohio, they gather their wheat. It is mostly 
done by Irish, who come up from Liverpool, and even across 
the Channel, thus to reap their little harvest of shillings. We 
saw them at York, these laborers, packed by twenties and fifties, 
into unventilated cars (used for cattle on ordinary occasions), 
all somewhat intoxicated, all armed with scythe and sickle, but 
so closely packed, that in the biggest hullabaloo imaginable, they 
could hardly use their • gougers,' much less their instruments of 



424 ENGLISH HUSBAyDEY, 

husbandry. One poor fellow was. by some fatality, placed in 
our car. He had his bundle, his sickle, and the never-failing 
resource of an Irishman, his pipe. He told me that he received 
from eight to ten shillings an acre, and " that it took him four 
days to cut an aci-e. and right heavy crops they were too." When 
assured that an American swung a cradle to the tune of five 
acres a day, he took a long whiff, and opened his eyes, while his 
mouth, too, opened to exclaim in consternation, " that he would 
like to see one of them — (is it creedles ye call thim?) at work." 
He thought that if a company of Americans should come over 
here, with their " creedles," that they would iiiake a good har- 
vest of shillings, at ten per acre. In very deed, it would pay 
almost as well as working in a Sacramento digging. Ten dollars 
a day and found ; what do our farmers think of that ? They 
would not, however, Avondcr at it, if they could go into an Eng- 
lish harvest-field, and observe the women and men lazily gather- 
ing the straws and cutting them by handfulls ! Why, an ox 
with any thing like a tongue could clip a field about as soon as 
one of these sickles. No wonder McCormick's reaper created 
such delightful surprise among farmers here, where even the 
cradle was unknown. No wonder that he has made an arrange- 
ment, by which $25,000 for the first year is guarantied to him 
for the privilege of selling five hundred of his reapers, with a 
proportionate increase on an increased number sold. No won- 
der the London Times claimed the Reaper as an equivalent to 
Protection. 

But one thing must be said in commendation of the English 
farming. There is a completeness and cleanliness in the way a 
field is attended to, whether pastui*e, woodland or wheat field, that 
leaves nothing to be done. Ruth would have found scanty 
gleanings in the wake of an English husbandman. So with re- 
gard to the hay-stack and the straw-stack. They are all laid 
up with the precision of architecture, and nicely thatched. Not 
a straw is out of place. The wheat is stacked upon frames some 
feet above the ground, so as to preserve the grain from mice 



AND THE BEAUTY OF CHATS WORTH. 



425 



Nothing is wasted. The manure is caved for as sedulously as if 
it were wheat. Yet with all this nicety and completeness of 
cultivation, Ohio flour can be seen, (I can tell its brand as the 
face of an old friend), at any hour, unloading at Liverpool, swing- 
ing upward to its high-storied wareroom. or being waggoned 
through the streets for the depot, there to be distributed among 
these very districts where the fields are heavy with a better 
than placer gold. 

An English /rt;7«e/- generally rents of the lauded proprietor. 
The latter is called a gentleman in England, the farmer is not. 
Gentility is here dependent on the relation of the person to the 
Earth, whether it be as freeholder, or leaseholder. These proprie- 
tors number only thirty thousand in all England. The rent 
paid is from five to ten dollars per acre, according to the quality 
of the soil. In addition, there is the tithe and poor-rate. The 
farmer is not allowed to cultivate in wheat each year, more than 
a third or a quarter of the land rented ; because the soil must 
be kept up ; and to this end, there must be a rotation of crops. 
The first crop taken after the ground is manured, consists of some 
root, as the beet or turnip ; and is called the hoed crop. After 
this, comes barley, oats, and beans ; and then the wheat. Al- 
most every thing raised is fed to stock (of which a fai-m is rarely 
without), except the wheat and barley. In the case of a graz- 
ing farm, this rotation would not apply. When a part of it is 
sown in grass, it is sufi"ered to remain in pasture for three years, 
more or less, which supersedes artificial manuring. Our farmers 
cannot realize, without an inspection of English favming, the 
immense outlay of expenditure, and the capital required to carry 
on a farm here. The manures are the largest item. They are 
mostly manufactured near London. Bone dust is a principal 
article. It is nothing unusual to put upon one acre twenty-five 
dollars worth of manure. The amount of capital actually re- 
quired to carry on a farm cannot fall short of fifty dollars an 
acre, by which I mean the expense of stock, implements, manure, 
and labor required to keep the land in good cultivable con- 



426 ENGLISH HUSBANDRY, 

dition. A farmer with one thousand acres, must be worth fifty 
thousand doUars, in order to carry on his farm as it is here car- 
ried on. 

Whatever may be the expense attending agriculture in Eng- 
land compared to America, there is one regard in which Eng- 
land may claim the palm of excellence. It is in the tasteful and 
even elegant mode in which the fields, parks, and gardens are 
arranged and displayed. God never intended that man should 
for ever sweat over the furrow and in the harvest field, to obtain 
his daily bread. By creating the beauty of flowers which ena- 
mel the meads, the trees which waver in the wind and give 
charm to the landscape, the waters which plash in fountains and 
circle in eddies, the varieties of hill and dale, rocky eminences 
and green lawns ; by bending over all this regalia of Nature, 
His Empyrean of azure, does He not teach, that there is an in- 
ner spirit which is not gratified, and cannot be satisfied merely 
with utilities ; but which looks out inquiringly through the 
senses, for the objects of admiration and love 1 Life would be 
an uneasy and desperate thraldom, unless Beauty enfranchised 
its activities, and led it along its own ' primrose path of dalli- 
ance.' 

How little do we in America, especially in Ohio, think of 
these sentiments practically ! How rarely do we find around our 
log-cabins and country residences any thing to attract, except 
its genial hospitality ! Yet how much does prodigal nature lay 
at the feet of our people, which, with little pruning and care, 
would displace the few fiag-stones. the wood-pile, the mud-pud- 
dle and cow-resort before the threshold, and array our residences 
in fragrant vines, surround them with trees and flowers native to 
our woods, and make home sweeter and dearer by these minis- 
trations to Beauty ! Would the young man just out of his teens 
be looking after a quarter section in Illinois and Iowa, if the 
roof-tree of home thus blossomed ? In England it is otherwise. 
Time hath here left legacy after legacy of garniture to each cot 



AND THE BEAUTY OF CIIATSWOETH. 407 

tage and hall. Her people prize the boon, and transmit to pos- 
terity the landscape, with new features of loveliness. 

The highest refinement of rural beauty in England, and even, 
it was said, in the world, was to be found at Chatsworth, the 
prime country-seat, among seven others, belonging to the Duke 
of Devonshire. To have left England without having seen 
Chatsworth, would have argued us insensible to the voice of un- 
disputed rumor, which located the modern Paradise over the 
moors beyond Sheffield, whither upon yesterday we were bound. 
It was our last sight in the Old World, and anticipation made 
it the culminating point of our voyaging. The reputation of 
the Duke's manager, who is none other than Paxton, the de- 
signer of the Crystal Palace, added a zest to anticipation : while 
the leisure of a complete day was dedicated to its fruition. 

Sheffield has little to attract. Its smoky factories almost 
darkened our hopefulness as we drove down its streets. But in 
the beautiful environs we found compensation for the coaly 
effluence. Chatsworth was 17 miles from Sheffield, and the 
luxury of an open carriage enabled us to enjoy the intervening 
scenes. We drove by the residence of the cutlers, among which 
was that of Rogers, the King Cutler, whose steel is as famous 
as that of Damascus. In the valley were distributed different 
manufactories for cutlery, which, before fit for the market, un- 
dergoes various processes in different establishments, from the 
smelting of the metal up to its grinding, tempering, and pol- 
ishing. 

As we approached Chatsworth, the view became enchanting. 
The moors appeared in the hazy distance covered and colored 
with the purple heather, or ling, as it is called in England, 
which gives the aspect of a blooming garden to these wastes. 
We had not expected to see such extensive wastes near the 
great marts of Sheffield and Manchester, in a county more 
densely populated than any other part of the island. But so it 
was. Why ? The Duke of Rutland owned the range for hunt- 
ing. The Duke of Devonshire yonder heath for the same. 



428 ENGLISH JIUSBANDRY, 

Grouse hide under the ferns, and feed upon the blossom of the 
heather. The land is let by the thousand acres, at $250 for 
that area for hunting, besides which the lessee has a large outlay 
for preserving the game. We saw lazy fellow's sitting near the 
bars preserving the game from the poachers, and we saw, too, 
'chaps' with their jihaeton in the road, innocently looking over 
the walls, while a man with setters was starting up the game, 
which the ' chap' from the road would as innocently fire at as it 
rose. This is what is called, taking it ' on the sly.' Grouse 
were rising on all sides. Huntsmen were on the distant hills. 
The smoke and flash were visible — otherwise all was desolate. 
Bleak rocks, scattered about like those at Vesuvius, but unlike 
them adorned with ferns and ling, are upon the summit of the 
moor, which looks over a vast range of country, taking in 
Chatsworth, with its palace and park, where we soon arrived. 

We went first to the kitchen gardens, and found ingress. 
Long ranges of walls and hot-houses, as fiir as the eye could 
reach, met our view, with neat grass and flower-plots between. 
A machine was at work, used by the hand, which clipped the 
grass while it rolled it smoothly and carried the clippings along. 
I wondered no more at the velvet elegance of the English lawn. 
On the larger lawns, we saw larger machines drawn by horses, 
which performed the same function. AVe entered the principal 
hot-house, where tropical plants flowered in every hue of the 
chromatic scale, and in every form which an Infinite Creator 
moulds. The Paxonian hung its rich pink pendants beside the 
large straw-colored alamander which crept upon the ceiling, over 
beds of exotics perfumed to a sense of faintness. In another 
green-house, water-lilies alone were kept in a mimic lake, which 
was not sufi"ered to stagnate ; for little water-wheels fretted it 
continually. Lilies, did I say ? There was but one lily, called 
the Victoria Eegia, from which twenty large leaves, as ' round 
as my shield,' and five feet in diameter, were spread upon the 
surface. These leaves seemed like green tables, supported, for 
all that I could see, by water-nymphs. A large lily was in 



AND THE BEAUTY OF CHATSWORTH. 429 

flower : while another, ghostly pale, was bursting its verdant 
cerements. I always loved the lily ; so pure, so stainless, so 
emblematic of innocence. It is a quaint myth, which accounts 
for its origin. Jupiter, in order to make Herciiles immortal, 
clapped him to the breast of Juno, when she was asleep. The 
young embodiment of Strength drew so hard that, too great 
a gush of milk coming down, some slipped upon the sky, 
which made the Galaxy, or Milky Way, and out of some which 
fell upon the earth, rose the lily. A queenly origin hath the 
proud white flower ! The Regia of Chatsworth does no discredit 
to its celestial lineage. A curious flower, called the stanopia, 
which grows out below instead of above the root, was in full 
bloom. Tall futia in red, great cup and pitcher flowers ; indeed, 
every style of vegetable beauty, in hues which the sea-shell can 
never rival, warmed into life in the heated air. 

Without, the arrangement was simple in its elegance. Each 
class of flowers had its own plot. The kith and kin all lived 
neighborly, and smiled happily as they bent to each other or 
looked up into the sky. The walls were warmed with subterra- 
nean flues, and clad with peach and apricot, flatly trimmed against 
them. The pine -apples were growing under glass, finer than I 
ever saw them at home. The grapes, purj)le and white, larger 
than — no matter ; it is too toothsomely luscious to talk about, 
as it was too tempting to the larcenously inclined fingers. 
What Elia says of roast pig (oh ! reader, forgive the savory illu- 
sion in this unnatural connection), may I not say of those clus- 
ters, that they produced a premonitory moistening — or overflow- 
ing of the nether lip, and the idea of tasting them created a de- 
light — if not sinful, yet so like to sinning, that a tender-con- 
scienced person would do well to pause. We paused. 

We walk out again to hear the bees hum from flower to 
flower, and see them at work in their straw hives. Large beds 
of vegetables of the largest development are ranged near. This 
smacked of the kitchen ; all else might well become seraglios 
and palaces. 



430 ENGLISH HUSBANDRY, 

As we move through the great gate, we are conducted into 
the palace, which is a superb structure, topped with figures and 
urns, and rich in bass-reliefs and carvings. We pass through 
halls of paintings by masters, through apartments where were 
the coronation chairs of England's royalty, through rooms where 
the presents of the Emperor Nicholas to the Duke were arranged, 
and through others, where the greatest collection of sketchings 
in the world is exhibited. From the windows, in each of which 
there is but one pane, we have prospects of the hills and woods ; 
of the Derwent water, in which hundreds of Durhams are wading 
or ruminating ; of the Park, where sheep and deer together nip 
the herbage ; of sheets of water, glancing under the sun, re- 
minding us of the water-views down the leafy avenues of Ver- 
sailles, and of fountain-jets, playing out of manifold forms of 
Triton and God. Not another fabric is to be seen on the pre- 
mises — not one. Nothing, upon the whole sixteen hundred acres, 
appears to mar the complete diversity of rural loveliness. There 
is no point which has not contributed its portion to the manifest 
unity of Beauty, which embraces so much variety in its magic 
zone. 

The hall of statuary has not a fragment nor a blotch. Every 
piece is a gem. The pure Parian glistens in tasteful array and 
graceful form. A door opens, and a conservatory, with elegant 
and costly vases, filled with oranges and flowers, is presented ; 
out of which, as from an enchanter's realm, we walk upon paths 
of pulverized spar, shining like diamonds, and surrounded by 
lawns spongy to the foot and as neatly trimmed as tapestry. 
Here another guide meets us, and leading us by pillars vine-clad, 
by temples copied from classic models, and by statuary, guard- 
ing the old trees under whose shade they stand, gives us a 
vantage ground from which to see the glory of Chatsworth. 
See ! — Far up in a woody mountain, from natural springs, whose 
supply is exhaustless. there leaps the live water-falls ; so high 
and distant, you may not hear their music. These gather to a 
head and fall over a temple's dome, from which they leap, but 



AND THE BEAUTY OF CHATSWOETH. 43 1 

to rebound into fountains, where they are bespread in veils of 
fleecy whiteness, and hasten down a succession of steps, some 
three hundred yards long and fifteen feet wide. As we reclined 
on the soft turf, at the foot of these steps, the guide let on a full 
volume of water, which leaped, gushed and sprung, danced, sang 
and glittered, until at our feet it disappeared under ground, to 
emerge, perhaps at lower points in other capacities. How much 
has motion to do with the loveliness of a landscape ! 

Passing under copses of shaggy-trunked trees, which we did 
very leisurely, we are invited to enter cool, rocky retreats, arti- 
ficially arranged, and not without their fern and heather. Here 
the genius of Paxton is seen, in those huge masses of rock which 
apparently block up our path, but yield to a gentle push as they 
swing upon their pivots. E-ocking stones of immense weight are 
around, mobile to a child's strength. Among the roots of pine 
trees and out of rocky fissures, little rills played, and laughed 
as they ran around stones and through moss, as if at the theatri- 
cal imposition which the artificial was acting for our admiration. 
Birds hopped and chirruped as unconsciously as if Nature and 
not Paxton had given them their bowers. But the cunning 
carollers. — we did not see any of them alight on a certain tree, 
which deceived my perception, if it could not their instinct. A 
New Haven gentleman — a wag, by the way — wished me just to 
examine its bark ; it was so very odd. I was going up for that 
purpose, when I observed the tree bleeding water-drops ; and 
before I could look again, to be sure it was no phantasy, every 
point and pore of twig and branch spurted its jet, and the turf 
under my feet became suddenly alive with subtle fountains ! Of 
course, I retired. Of course. I was food for merriment. Of 
course, invidious remarks, comparing my verdancy with the 
curious vegetable production, were made. Of course, I had to 
join the roar of laughter. ' New Haven' had procured the guide 
to say the ' Open Sesame' to a rock, behind which he touched a 
spring, whose magic proved my discomfiture and his fun. 

It was by this rocky path that we went to see the Crystal 



432 ENGLISH HUSBANDRY, 

Palace, — not the one at London, but its progenitor, the original, 
built by Paxton, and from which he designed the great Exhibi- 
tion Palace. This looked crystalline ; it had no j^ainted col- 
umns, by scores and hundreds, and no drapery ; but a concave 
without these, of clearest glass, so arranged as scarcely to show 
the sash, and all strong. Terraces, hedges, and flowers surround 
it ; while, in the lake near, a fountain plays two hundred and 
eighty feet high ! "We entered, and saw the same beautiful 
arrangement which distinguishes the transept of the Great 
Palace ; large palms and blooming creepers, flowers of every 
clime, dressed in their gala colors, and rocks streaming with 
tendrils ! Some idea of its extent may be had, when it is con- 
sidered that there are in the building seven miles of six-inch 
heated piping. 

Is it strange that such magnificence exists where there are 
one hundred and twenty-seven gardeners alone engaged ? Or, 
with such an immense revenue as belongs to the duke, and with 
such a manager as Paxton ? Before leaving the domain, 3'ou 
may survey it from a tower, so erected as to comprehend all its 
beauty. There is no smoke to obscure the view. It is all carried 
off to a great distance, by underground flues. The very coal 
used by so many hot-houses, is conveyed by a subterranean rail- 
way. The farming arrangements and the village without the 
domain, are a complement to what I have faintly pictured. 
The village is the model of England. All the cottages were 
either Gothic or Swiss — of stone, exact and elegant, with grass 
and flower-plots. Surrounding church and school-house were 
linden-trees, trimmed neatly and inwoven as one, meeting and 
arching. Could there be scandal, or gossip, or backbiting, or 
aught but harmony in such a paragon of a town? Sir Thomas 
Moore, in the picture he has drawn of the towns of Utopia, so 
precise and perfect, might have given grace to the drawing, had 
a Chatsworth been contemporaneous with his time. 

The owner of all this paradise is a bachelor. Hold ! Not 
so fast, ladies ! A confirmed bachelor, a bachelor bound hand 



AXD THE BEAUTY OF CHATSWOIITJI. 433 

and foot ! Some difficulty as to the title of the duke was started ; 
which was hushed by an arrangement between the contending 
families. The duke agreed to live and die unmarried ; so that 
Lord Mortington, the claimant, should be his heir. The duke 
is old and infirm. He is liberal in the use which he makes of his 
wealth. His fruitage and venison load the tables of his friends ; 
and he has freely opened to the public these grounds and this 
palace, where, in its consummate perfection, the luxury of the 
East and the arts of Italy vie with the tasteful elegance of France 
and the natural beauties of Switzerland and Scotland ; and where 
all combine to render Chatsworth one of the most attractive spots 
for the traveller in Great Britain, if not in Europe. 

Such spots are needed, to show man from what a beautiful 
estate he has fallen. If immense fortunes must be entailed, let 
them thus be transformed into the poetry and music of nature, 
that they may allay or divert the passions and pertui-bations of 
our sinful state. Sir William Temple says, that human life is 
at the best and greatest but like a froward child, that must be 
played with and humored a little to keep it quiet, till it falls 
asleep, and then the care is over. Then why not please it with 
such charms as Chatsworth displays, until it reposes on the 
bosom of its mother earth ? It was our last — may not I say — 
greatest pleasure, in this land of our ancestors. It will not be 
forgotten, until we repose in that sleep that knows no waking. 
Will it then ? Not if a thing of beauty be a ]oy forever. 

From Sheffield, through Manchester, a huge, compact, black 
and busy city — we have returned to Liverpool, where all the 
day we have been reading letters from home — thinking of home, 
and what is better, packing for home, whither we will be soon 
going. 



XXXVIII. 

€\}t %m\{n\t fur l^niiiL 



" Ever drifting, drifting, drifting. 
On tlie shifting, 
Currents of the restless heart; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart." 



Longfellow. 



IT was with unwonted alacrity tliat we packed our luggage, and 
called our last cab on transatlantic shores. By noon of the 
3d of September, we were down upon the Mersey's brink, await- 
ing the return of the tender, which was to bear us to the vessel's 
side. Nearly two hundred Americans were with us upon that 
tender, and they now float with us as I write. We did not feel 
much reluctance in leaving England. With our faces turned 
westward, where could our hearts be, but westward — in our own 
blessed home ! The perils of the great sea are forgotten ; or 
what is worse, its disagreeableness is joyfully encountered ; for 
through all, we see smiling the faces of those who wait to wel- 
come our return. Liverpool is not noted ; its superb custom- 
house and miles of docks receive no encomium. When the heart 
bounds so warmly, the eye is blind to external things. The 
Mersey's green banks scarcely are thought of; for there comes 
the greeting of friend with friend. Old companions in voyaging 
shake hands, laugh, and talk over scenes that they have viewed 
since separation, and of their gladness in anticipating their re- 
turn to America. A few there were who were leaving dear friends 
in Eneiland. The wave of the handkerchief from steamer and 



THE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 435 

shore, the hand-kissing, the tear-dropping, the stifled sobbing ; 
did they not bring to mind our own parting, when the Asia cleft 
the waves of New-York harbor ? 

The mails were aboard, the guns fired, the cheers given and 
answered ; and the noble " Pacific" bore away with as hopeful a 
cargo of humanity as ever trod a steamer's deck, — hopeful in 
that sense which antedates the joy of the future with large and 
generous impulses. 

Our first two days out were pleasant in the extreme. I be- 
gan to think myself quite a sailor. True, the channel was not 
rough ; but then there were two days gone, and not a sign of 
mine ancient enemy. Not even his advanced guard was visible. 
I began to tread the deck proudly — looked people in the face, 
as if I were an old salt — perfectly accustomed to nautical ex- 
periences. Complacency sat serenely on my front like ' Halcyon 
on the wave.' Besides, was not the Pacific a larger boat, with 
less rocking and rolling than the Asia ? Bravely I marched 
down to dinner ; called the waiter with a confidence which solid 
earth might have inspired ; had no misgivings but that travelling 
had indurated the system ; in fine, conducted myself as if I were 
already a triumphant champion over the insidious foe. The 
sequel is plain. Pride fell with the Son of the Morning ; why 
not with fallible humanity % I felt, rather than saw my enemy 
approach. He came upon a tall wave, with a white ensign, and 
a sparkling lance. His first blow was aimed at the very point 
of the system, where the Ancients seated courage. If the citadel 
itself was beseiged, where were the outposts % Not without a 
struggle did I yield. With Sir Jack, I may now say. ' that had 
I known he was so cunning o'fence, I would have seen him d — d, 
ere I had fought him.' I marched the deck with determination, 
pursed up my lip, perked up my eyebrows, and assumed that 
serio-careless air which seemed to say : ' 'tis a little disturbance 
of the animal economy — soon be right — good ship — rather like 
the sea — it's so bi*acing — ahem !' But it would not do. I walked 
stoutly, did not look at any other object than the wheel-house, 



436 'J^HE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 

made imaginary speeches to evanescent juries, tried every ab- 
straction and even my best expedient, viz., hummed • Scot's wha 
ha,' and whistled that air, known in Buckeyedom, as the ' big 
muster tune,' to whose inspiring music the corn-stalk militia of 
the Miami, Sciota, and Muskingum valleys were wont to march 
in disorganized and timeless array, in the good old days when 
training was the duty of Ohio's citizenry. All would not do. 
A large billow gave the vessel a lurch and a twist, I changed 
my tune, struck my colors, and with more precipitation than 
grace, retired below. In the piteous strain of an old bard, let 
me ask, 

" Was ever mortal wight iu such a woeful case ?" 

Ask me not to renew the infandum dolorem of the six sub- 
sequent days, during which without intermission we have had 
tempestuous weather. How the winds raved, the boat snapped 
and creaked, the waters roared and the rains came ; these are a 
part of the malignant triumphings of my enemy, which I would 
fain forget. Yesterday the fog enveloped us ; but the sun soon 
shone through, the Newfoundland banks were near ; the sea was 
calm ; and it was said by a few tough old fellows without stom- 
ach or sympathy, who had been on deck for eight days, that we 
had stopped on the banks to ivood, when there mysteriously ap- 
peared on deck over 150 strange passengers ! 

Ours is a stanch steamer. She has braved the continuous 
storms nobly. True we have lost about a day on account of the 
weather ; but on our worst day we ran two hundred and thirty 
miles, and in a good sea we can run three hundred and thirty. 
I will not undertake to compare her with the Cunard steamers ; 
comparisons are odious ; but for elegant saloons, comfortable 
berths, an excellent table and speed, the Pacific has no superior, 
if any equal. She has made the four best trips ever made over 
the Ocean, except the one great great trip of the Baltic, which 
Capt. Nye will not suffer long to eclipse his fame. 



THE BUCKEYE EOR HOME. 437 

Americau sviporiority in yatcliiug, whatever may be said of 
steaming, was fully illustrated last mouth at Cowes, by the saucy 
little America, who rau away with all the prizes, while she upset 
the English idea of naval superiority in a manner which was 
only equalled, let me in justice say, by the manly courtesy and 
civility of the English gentlemen who afforded her so fair an 
opportunity of beating all their aristocratic craft. We were 
constantly congratulated in England, on the America's success. 
It did much to relieve the barren aspect of our part of the 
Great Exhibition ; for at one swoop, it threw down all the mo- 
dels of naval architecture which adorned the west end of the 
British department. 

The line of coast, which begins to grow plainer, indicates 
that we are in sight of our own continent. It does not strike 
us as our own country. Bare, bleak and uninhabited, it pre- 
sents its cheerless, rocky edge of slanting strata, to the pitiless 
peltings of the sea. Shoals of black fish darken the water, and 
the spouting of whales in the horizon present more attractions 
than this inhospitable shore of Newfoundland. 

But that shore tells me that we shall soon be home, and 
leads me to review, before I conclude these sketches. I confess 
that there has been a pleasure imparted, if not to others at least 
to myself, in recording this pilgrimage and currente calamo, gos- 
siping about its incidents. There is now to my mind new 
meaning in Wordsworth's verse : 

" Minds that have nothing to confer, 
Find little to perceive." 

It is a truth, though a paradox in mental philosophy, that by 
sharing your spiritual spoil, you add to it ; for you instil the 
prompture which moves to acquisition. These fugitive pages 
have been a constant prompture, a pleasant spur to observation. 
There was opportunity for conference with friends and kindred 
minds, and I looked with closer perception for the best subjects 
of communion. 



438 TiiE BUCKEYE FOR HOME 

In this delightful employment, over five months have been 
passed. What a season of ineffable enjoyment has it been ! 
What a life — a novel life has been compressed into these months ! 
What sacrifices could adequately measure the rich ingathering 
of their experience. A business temporarily left ; the results 
of three years of professional labor expended in a summer ; not 
alone for my own gratification, but for that of a companion, who 
will life-long share it ; the aggravations of homelessness en- 
countered upon steamboat, at hotel, in coach and car, contention 
with strange languages, disagreeableness upon the sea and the 
hazards of travel, the deprivation from worship at home and 
at church, the absence of friends and relations whose life is 
bound up with our own ; all these are the sacrifices we have made, 
not the least among which is that constant call for cash, which 
the bag Peter Schlemil sold his shadow for, could hardly supply. 
What have we in return ? Memories, eternal as our nature. Of 
what % Ruins Avhich are histories ; temples which are chroni- 
cles ; seas and shores where Crusader and Corsair, Christian 
and Infidel, fought and gloried ; the silence of deserted and ex- 
humed cities, and of desolate solitudes in the mountain passes 
and heights ; the magnificence of Art in her present phases, 
and as she appears in the vestiges of Antiquity ; the recondite 
sjirings of the world's activity, developing forms of every use 
and variety, enshrined in the Palace of Industry ; the splendid 
seats of Power, the fields of blood and valor ; and the beautiful 
and unadorned scenes of nature ; all instinct with their past pa- 
geantry, or with the busy energies of our own day. Upon the 
hot pavements of the Southern city, in the narrow streets of the 
Eastern, through the shady promenades of the gay capitals of 
Europe, over the mountain and moor, the lake and river, we 
have sought out the evidences of buried civilization, and wit- 
nessed the results of the living. We have stood by the tombs 
of the great and the gifted, whose names were a terror or an 
honor to their kind : have witnessed the ceremonies and devo- 
tions of different religions in their splendid structures, and have 



THE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 439 

lingered around localities which the warm breath of enthusiasm, 
like that of spring, hath bid to blossom with the flower and pei-- 
fume of Poetry. Who says that the earth is cold and pulseless ? 
Let him take the pilgrim staff, and trace upon its surface its 
letters, legible with the stories of human Passion and Love. 
Within its rocky bosom there throbs the heart of Humanity 
and every pulsation plays its part in that economy of Providence, 
which is the key to all revolutions, and to all philosophy, which 
reconciles every contradiction in morals and physics, and is the 
fulfilment of every prophecy. 

What new significance will we find in the poetry, the romance, 
the philosophy and history of the world ! What rivets for recol- 
lection have been forged by these journeyings ! What lessons 
have we conned of the relations of man to man in society ! How 
flimsy and meaningless seem the distinctions of wealth, which 
some draw even in America, when we reflect upon the riches 
that we have seen adorning nature by art, calling every luxury 
upon the sumptuous board, and every decoration around the 
tomb of the departed ! How "much more do we love to contem- 
plate man, as man^i undisguised by the frippery of rank, and 
ennobled by his native dignity ! As, in passing, we have realized 
the existence of place after place, and object after object, of 
which we had read, and which slept in the twilight of uncertain- 
ty, a deeper confidence in human veracity has been inspired, and 
a firmer faith in the Invisible and Eternal established ! 

And yet travelling has its drawbacks in social cultivation. 
Where so much want and beggary is seen, and which not even 
Fortunatus, with his purse, could relieve, the heart is apt to 
grow callous to misery. Oh ! it is not in the broad gairish sunshine 
of the world that the gentler affections flourish best, but in the 
security and seclusion of home. The sweetest and tenderest 
flowers are the offspring of the shade. Under the domestic roof, 
the primal duties are best observed. From the window of home 
they are seen " to shine aloft like stars." 

Some people estimate the attraction of an object by the dis- 



V 



440 THE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 

tance from which it may draw the beholder (a truth in science, 
if not in travelling), without regard to its intrinsic merit. So 
do not I. In this age of steam locomotion, in which even so 
unsophisticated a traveller as the writer has travelled over four- 
teen thousand miles in five months, the fashion is becoming stale 
of judging beauty by its latitu.de, or sublimity by its longitude. 
As well judge of the sublimity of Niagara by its furlongs from 
Columbus, or the glory of Waterloo by its acres. We have 
endeavored to detect the natural and artificial beauty, or recall 
the classic allusion and historic association of the locality, and 
thus present it for your eye. We were the more inclined to 
observe this rule, from some excellent strictures of an Edinburgh 
Reviewer, which we perused last spring. He said, that the 
tourist just returned from Switzerland, looked down with a su- 
perior air on the visitor of the Rhine ; that he who had reached 
Rome was subdued into silence before him who had scaled Ve- 
suvius ; while the few who had actuallj- seen the East, were 
marked men, and excited a kind of envy among the holiday herd 
of wanderers whom their presence reduced to insignificance. He 
says well, that there is no real distinction in having measured 
thousands of miles, pent up with mobs of fellow creatures in 
steamers and inns ; for the smartest young Oxonian scarcely 
ventures, in mixed society, to open his budget of stories about 
the new hotel at Constantinople, or the old guide to Jerusalem, 
when the odds are, that some one of the company is fresh from 
California, or the trans-Himalayan regions. The importance 
attached to long journeys merely is thus dying away. 

If I should ever open my little budget too vauntingly, let 
some friend remind me of an acquaintance I made going into 
Smyrna. He was a Greek, and the only model of the age of 
Pericles I had seen — a very Alcibiades in the elegance of his 
person, and the accomplishment of his manners. He was a black- 
eyed, black-haired gentleman, with a face hirsute, yet beaming 
with intelligence. He had been educated in some Italian Uni 
versity, and was a thorough scholar, especially in the classic 



THE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 441 

Greek. He had left his parents fourteen years before, for his 
travels, and was just returning. He spoke French like a Paris- 
ian, Grerman very well, Russian well, English tolerably, and also 
the Turkish and his vernacular Greek. He was not illy versed 
in the language of the Arab, and some others of the Asiatic 
tribes. 

No wonder that he was such an encyclopedian linguist. He 
had travelled from Asia, througli Italy, France, Germany, Eng- 
land, and into Russia, where, having engaged in Caucasian and 
Siberian expeditions, he was led into Asia again. He had tra- 
versed the most inaccessible parts of Caucasia and Georgia, had 
roved among the Tartars, and exchanged hyperboles with the 
Persian. The most inhospitable races in the world, as well as 
the most difficult places to enter, may be found in the mountains 
of Asia ; yet these races he had lived with, and these difficulties 
surmounted. He had not travelled without an object. With a 
pocket edition of Xenophon, he had followed that martial scholar 
in his retreat with the " ten thousand ;" and had verified the 
account given, parasang by parasang, and object after object. 
He had gone with Jason to Colchis — a perilous journey even 
yet (although Colonel Doniphan's march during the Mexican 
war is far more wonderful than either Xenophon's or Jason's 
adventure), in search of the Argonautic fleece of gold. With 
perils among snows and deserts, from poniards, starvation and 
war, he had at last reached his home, where he proposed remain- 
ing, in order to reduce his experience to writing, and publish it 
in French at Paris. But I doubt if such a nomad remain long 
in Smyrna. His eye was already wandering over the ruins of 
Central America and Peru, which he wished to see, in order to 
verify some favorite hypotheses in relation to the Asiatic and 
American races. I gave him a list of American books which 
treat upon the subject. These will but fan the sparks into a 
blaze ; in which he will go off, perhaps in search of the Hesper- 
ides, or Isles of the Blest, beyond the setting sun, of which his 
favorite Grecian poets so rapturously sing. 



442 THE BUCKEYE FOR ROME. 

With such an adventurer yet alive on the earth, would it not 
be v^'ise to be chary of displaying one's limited travelling expe- 
rience, and to adopt the best, as well as the true touchstone, 
which ever tests the objects seen by their intrinsic, and not by 
any adventitious merit. 

By this touchstone I would desire to test my native country ; 
and would call upon the census returns, just taken, for my facts 
and figures. By the same touchstone, I would desire to test my 
native Buckeye State. She has not a long line of heraldry — 
renowned in war, and great in council ; but she has yet in her 
midst many of her own pioneers — honest, hardy and true — who 
have seen her grow in a half century from a wilderness, support- 
ing a few Indians by its game, into a State with nearly two mil- 
lions of free people, and outgrowing her old constitution, and 
within that time forced by the expansive spirit, and the in- 
creased prosperity of her people, to adopt a new organic law ! 
She has not ruins and temples, basilicas and minsters ; but she 
has great cities rising in the might of sleepless energy ; and all 
the product of a few years. Well may the philosopher and 
economist wonder at the results attained by the Republic of the 
New World. Her progress, her civilization, her polity, her 
comforts and amenities of life, and her prosperity, have no paral- 
lel in the history of nations. Those who are in her midst are 
not conscious of this -supremacy. From the shores of the Old 
World one can gaze at the United States, with a full appreciation 
of its truth, and return to its bosom to mingle with her masses, 
with a citizen's pride, that no display of royalty, or glitter of 
rank, no monuments of past glory or evidences of present power, 
from the Bosphorus to the Thames, can mortify or humble. If 
more of our young men could see the nations of the Old World, 
as to whose enfranchisement from galling tyrannies the heart 
almost ceases to hope ; if they could breathe the stifled air, 
which must not hear a whisper of liberalism ; and then contem- 
plate our own free country, rising in the greatness of her strength 
and instinct with the prompting of Destiny ; would there not be 



THE BUCKEYE FOR HOME. 443 

instilled into the heart a warmer love and purer devotion to 
their own native land ? 

The ■' Buckeye abroad," will soon be a Buckeye at home. 
The kindly air is blowing from the ' sweet South.' The fogs 
are left ujion the banks. The sun shines pleasantly. Boston is 
on our west. To-morrow morning, and we are in New-York ! 
But within the last few days, time has not hung so heavily. 
We have on board a songstress, Miss Hayes and troupe, going 
to New-Yoi"k to rival Jenny Lind. Yesterday a concert came 
off for the benefit of the gallant tars and firemen, who brought 
us safely out of the gales. Nearly two hundred dollars were 
raised ; Miss Hayes warbled and Braham sang, with a potency 
that calmed the sea ; and it was said, drew shoals of fish after 
our steamer, which, considering that we were in the midst of the 
great fisheries, was not so remarkable a phenomenon. As to our 
dinner speeches, our hurrahs, our cheerful inventions to pass 
time ; as to these minor matters, I need not now speak. Par- 
don me, that occasionally I have indulged in the light, where 
there is so much of the serious to be written about. I fear to 
attempt the profound ; lest it turn into the heavy, which even 
the inspiration of the old world, with its thronging multitude of 
interests, could not relieve. But my readers will do me the 
justice to say, that where Antiquity was present as a power, and 
God was visible in the grandeur of his works, I have not in- 
dulged in the frivolous. There is one part of the tourist's re- 
cord, which has not regaled my readers. Have I made mouths 
over meals, called on the reader to condole with my boiled egg 
or pudding, or to swear at Boots while I stood in stocking feet 
bawling in bad French 1 Have I dilated upon the want of 
water in my pitcher, or grumbled like John Bull at the in- 
famous charges of landlords ? Content to eat what I could, and 
surprised to find the world so much more honest than it has 
credit for — I have endeavored to realize my childhood's dream 
and boyhood's wonder, by finding in the scenes of the Old 
World an enchantment and a Presence, which in the repose of 
home. Memory will ' not willingly let die.' 



444 ''''^''- ]'^'<'KIiyE FOR HOME. 

The cry is that Rhode Island is in sight ! Oh ! but that 
sounds like home ! Little Ehody ; in whose University so 
many months were passed conning over scenes which the last 
summer has realized — next to Ohio, she seems my own native 
State. May not the pilgrim now conclude his wanderings, in the 
language of Sir John Mandeville, that veracious and quaint old 
traveller, whose marvels ho read in the old halls upon that shore : 
' I have passed mauyc landes and manye yles and contrees, and 
cherched (found) manye fulle straunge places, and have ben in 
manye fulle gode honourable companye. Now I am comen home 
to reste. And thus have I recorded the tyme passed.' 



1996 



"^ c^- ^ ^^v •^^' */■ '^ ^"^^ * 

<'^ '^/ ■' , V * '0 -^ 





.^^^■ 








\ 


^ ' 








"^•^j 
V 


,0 






^- - ^-%, ; ^'^' \ .^•' 






</' \v -c- s^ 















^^ '=^. * 



>.^' 











A^^' 








■ ■-> 




, \ 




^^^^ v^^ : 




- "b C 


x^^- 








•^^- 


■^' 


s 


V^ 


% 



N^^ -% 



S' 



V> 



■^ '^^ ">r^"^ ^v 






.<^^ 






.'^ J^ 






.^^' 



0^ c« 






i;J> * 






■<^ V 



.-> 






-0' 









-N^ 



' ^ 



>' 



^ * . '> 



^■^^ 














K 












> 
^ 




^ 




0^ 


G^- 




'% 






-\v^ ^ \. 1 « 



,^- 



-< 


^ 





> 


^*' 


•'*. . 


,/ 




%/ 



f 
















^« 




-J^ 






\0°^. 






d^ 




(--. 


p 


* - 
y - 


"', 





,^\;- 






s^-^. 



^^^■ 



"^/^ 


>^^ 




x*^ 


°^. 


1% 






'K 



S>' -r-^. 



